


The Heroes of Paris: Patrol Logs

by tptplayer5701



Series: "Mind Games"-verse [28]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arson, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Babysitting, Bad Parent Audrey Bourgeois, Badass Alix Kubdel, Badass Kagami Tsurugi, Bank Robbery, Bee Miraculous, Car Accidents, Chloé Bourgeois & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Friendship, Chloé Bourgeois Being Chloé Bourgeois, Dog Miraculous, Dragon Kagami Tsurugi | Ryuko, Drunkenness, Environmentalism, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Good Chloé Bourgeois, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heroes of Paris, Ice Powers, Journey to the West - Freeform, Lê Chiến Kim Being an Idiot, Magic, Minor Ivan Bruel/Mylène Haprèle, Miraculous Holder Félix Graham de Vanily, Miraculous Holder Ivan Bruel, Miraculous Holder Mylène Haprèle, Miraculous Holder Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Monkey Lê Chiến Kim | Roi Singe, Mouse Miraculous, Music, Musical References, New Miraculous Holders, Original Miraculous, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ox Miraculous, Post-Hawk Moth Defeat, Protective Kagami Tsurugi, Rape Aftermath, Rescue, Robbery, Rooster Miraculous, Teamwork, Turtle Nino Lahiffe | Carapace, Vandalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 37,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26732992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tptplayer5701/pseuds/tptplayer5701
Summary: A "Mind Games"-verse Anthology:A year ago the Heroes of Paris defeated Hawk Moth and reclaimed his miraculous, but the Heroes continued to patrol their city and protect the people of Paris. Every night two of the heroes will scour the city, looking to help people and prevent crime. Between super-villains and common criminals, vandals and runaways, anything can happen when the Heroes of Paris are on patrol!New Chapters on Wednesdays
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Chloé Bourgeois, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe, Amélie Graham de Vanily & Bridgette, Amélie Graham de Vanily & Félix Graham de Vanily, Anarka Couffaine & Kagami Tsurugi, Audrey Bourgeois & Chloé Bourgeois, Bridgette & Félix Graham de Vanily, Chloé Bourgeois & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Chloé Bourgeois & Mylène Haprèle, Chloé Bourgeois & Sabine Cheng, Chloé Bourgeois & Tom Dupain, Emilie Agreste & Chloé Bourgeois, Ivan Bruel & Alix Kubdel, Ivan Bruel & Original Character(s), Ivan Bruel/Mylène Haprèle, Jalil Kubdel & Lê Chiến Kim, Juleka Couffaine & Kagami Tsurugi, Juleka Couffaine & Original Character(s), Juleka Couffaine & Roaar, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Kagami Tsurugi & Longg, Kagami Tsurugi & Original Character(s), Luka Couffaine & Mylène Haprèle, Luka Couffaine/Kagami Tsurugi, Lê Chiến Kim & Nora Césaire, Lê Chiến Kim & Xuppu, Lê Chiến Kim/Ondine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Jalil Kubdel, Mylène Haprèle & Mullo, Mylène Haprèle & Original Character(s), Mylène Haprèle & Rose Lavillant, Nathaniel Kurtzberg & Nino Lahiffe, Nathaniel Kurtzberg & Original Character(s), Nino Lahiffe & Original Character(s), Plagg & Tikki (Miraculous Ladybug), Rose Lavillant & Daizzi, Rose Lavillant & Kagami Tsurugi, Rose Lavillant & Lê Chiến Kim, Rose Lavillant & Original Character(s), Sabine Cheng/Tom Dupain
Series: "Mind Games"-verse [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666807
Comments: 85
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this anthology came from a question asked in a review about wanting to see more “day in the life” stories with the Heroes going on patrol together. I’ve included a few of those before (there’s one in [“An Adrienette Anthology,”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23877634/chapters/57854929) the two-part [“Acolytes of the Mundane”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25091401/chapters/61833571) in “Life and Times” is a good example, and you could put the [Epilogue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515076/chapters/62826868) of “Heart of the Storm” in the same category, though that’s not a patrol), but it did get me thinking. So 1 spreadsheet and a random-number generator later, here’s another anthology to run concurrent with “The Life and Times of the Heroes of Europe” and “The Woman out of the Fridge.” If you have suggestions for hero pairings or patrol occurrences, let me know. I don’t use every idea/suggestion someone gives me, but sometimes they trigger a different idea that I will use.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladybug and Amun-Vatar (Jalil Kubdel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jalil has only made a couple of appearances in the “Mind Games”-verse before now, in [“Subjecting a God”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903252/chapters/62950333) and [“The Battle for the Seine,”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066554/chapters/63602257) and there are oblique references to both in the first paragraph.

Jalil hadn’t been sure what to expect when Marinette told him that they were going on patrol together that night. Yes, he had been living at the Agreste Mansion with a group of the Heroes of Paris since The Incident, but that had been more for the city’s sake than anything else – if anything happened and Amun reasserted himself, there were heroes right there who could help Jalil bring him back under control… or they would beat on Jalil until the madness stopped; Ladybug and Cat Noir hadn’t been terribly clear on that point. Regardless, beyond his trip to Cairo with the others, Jalil’s activity with the Heroes of Paris had been limited.

Tonight, however, it looked like it was time for him to finally earn his keep. He had certainly put the Heroes of Paris through enough trouble over the summer. A chance to begin repaying them for their help and kindness was long overdue.

Jalil met Marinette at the Mansion’s front door after dinner and followed her down the long driveway. She ducked into an alleyway after walking for a couple blocks, only to emerge a moment later transformed. “Are you going to…?” she asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Right…” Jalil muttered hesitantly. Mentally he found the cage imprisoning Amun inside his mind and allowed a small piece of his power to flow out. Concentrating on what he wanted, he felt his face turn to gold as he allowed Amun’s mask to reassert itself slightly.

“ _All the power of a god at your fingertips… and you use it for cheap face paint,_ ” Amun observed in disgust. “ _You could do anything you want._ ”

“ _And all it would cost is the low, low price of my soul,_ ” replied Jalil. He exhaled slowly and rose off the ground in the middle of a column of air. He opened his eyes to find Ladybug staring up at him from the ground wide-eyed. “This way I can keep up with you better, right?”

She nodded and grimaced. “This will probably take some getting used to.” But the grimace changed into a grin, and she threw her yo-yo to loop around a traffic light before allowing it to pull her into the air, swinging between buildings. Amun-Vatar propelled himself forward, keeping up with her easily on his column of air. “When we go on patrol,” she called behind her, “it’s as much about letting people know we are here for them as it is about stopping criminals or fighting bad guys. Sometimes it allows us to train together, and sometimes it’s just a chance to talk.”

Amun-Vatar nodded in acknowledgement and dropped a little lower to pass beneath a power line. “What’s the most exciting thing that happens on these patrols?” he asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

“ _Coward._ ”

“ _Madman._ ”

Amun scoffed. “ _I am so much more than a man._ ”

“ _You’re a mildly-irritating voice in my head,_ ” Jalil retorted.

Ladybug continued swinging between buildings, ignorant of Jalil’s internal dialogue. “There was one time Queen Bee took out a half-dozen kidnappers without breaking a sweat,” she answered him, giggling. “They didn’t even realize she was there until they were all trussed up together, dangling upside down from a tree! That doesn’t happen _too_ often, though; most of the time it’s a pretty quiet–” She cocked her head to one side in confusion. Amun-Vatar turned to look in that direction but didn’t see or hear anything that could have attracted her attention. “I guess we _won’t_ have a quiet night after all,” Ladybug grumbled, twisting her body to swing in that direction, Amun-Vatar hovering along behind her.

Ladybug dropped to the ground next to a playground swing set on the grounds of an _école élémentaire_ , where Amun-Vatar saw a trio of pre-teen boys in the shadow of the building’s side wall. He heard something shaking, followed by a hissing sound. That must have been what attracted Ladybug’s attention.

“ _Young hooligans,_ ” Amun commented. “ _I could set them straight in a flash of light._ ” Touching Amun’s consciousness, Jalil saw an image of a light-construct bird spinning straight through the boys in a single line at their neck level like a buzz saw.

“Amun wants me to smite the kids down,” Amun-Vatar observed, raising an eyebrow at his companion.

“Knowing your _friend_ , that would probably be a little excessive,” replied Ladybug, a concerned look on her face.

“He’s a definite fan of the literal interpretation of ‘heads will roll’,” he agreed, chuckling ruefully.

“Why am I not surprised?” Ladybug groaned, rubbing her temples. “Talking to them is probably the better option at this point. They’re not actually hurting anyone, and I can clean away the graffiti easily enough.”

“Should we give them a little light show first?” he asked, smirking. “Scare them straight?”

She gave him a deadpan look. “No.”

“ _She’s no fun,_ ” grumbled Amun.

“ _Well, you’re psychotic,_ ” retorted Jalil, snorting.

Ladybug leapt over the fence surrounding the playground in a single bound. Amun-Vatar blew himself over the fence after her and allowed his column of air to dissipate. As his feet touched the ground, he snapped his fingers and a ball of white light appeared in his hand. The three boys turned as one to see the two heroes standing there. The leader dropped the spray can he had been holding, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.

“We really didn’t _need_ to terrify them like that,” Ladybug muttered to Amun-Vatar. She waved a hand at the boys and called out in an overly-cheerful voice, “Hi! We happened to be passing by and heard you painting. So what are you three doing here?”

One of the boys shrugged and kicked at the gravel under his feet. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“It looks like you’re painting the school wall,” Ladybug commented, casually walking over to the wall and examining the fresh graffiti more closely. Amun-Vatar watched the leader shy away nervously as she approached.

“We were just having fun,” one of the boys defended. He looked from Ladybug to Amun-Vatar and quailed. “… We thought it would look cool.”

Ladybug nodded. “It’s very cool,” she agreed. “You have a good eye for colors and lines. The only problem is that the school won’t like this and they’ll have to put in the work to remove it.” She furrowed her brows in concentration, but her eyes brightened. “Do you know the Agreste Charity Drug Rehab Center three blocks from here?” she asked. When the boys nodded, she explained, “The Heroes of Paris helped set those up, and I’ve been meaning to give the outside walls a little more of a personal touch. Why don’t you paint the side of the rehab center building? I’ll clear it with the Agreste Charity.”

The boys nodded eagerly and raced away, leaving one of their spray cans behind. Ladybug picked it up and shouted to get their attention before throwing it to them. “Use the alley side!” she shouted. “And not too big – leave room for others! And if it’s not appropriate or I don’t like it, it’s gone!” The kids disappeared around the corner, and Ladybug groaned and rubbed her forehead. “What have I started?”

“So I take it that beating up people _isn’t_ the goal of being a hero?” Amun-Vatar asked wryly. “I can’t say I’m not relieved.”

Ladybug giggled. “I’d rather not make a habit of just beating people up! Especially kids.” With that she threw her yo-yo in the air and shouted, “Miraculous Ladybug!” In a swirl of red magic, the graffiti disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taureau Dechaine and Sk8r Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a minor trigger warning. The prompt for what would happen was “rapist.” There is nothing explicit, but you have been warned…

Taureau Dechaine arrived outside the Louvre just as the sun was setting to find Sk8r Girl practicing jumping over the benches beside the glass pyramid outside the museum. When he cleared his throat, she looked in his direction and skated over.

“What’s up, big guy?” she called, punching him in the shoulder in greeting.

“Eh, I had to leave dinner with my girlfriend and her dad for this,” he answered with a shrug.

“Rough,” Sk8r Girl observed wryly. “Unless you don’t like her dad, in which case maybe you can ask Pegasus to schedule it like this more often!”

“I’m pretty sure Multiplice would get suspicious if I just _happened_ to have to leave for patrol every time I was supposed to have dinner with them!” he joked. “Besides, I actually _like_ her dad!”

“So I take it you’ll be going back for ‘dessert’ when we’re done?” she asked, smirking.

He wagged his eyebrows at her. “Don’t you want to know?” With a laugh, he turned and started jogging north down the Rue du Louvre, Sk8r Girl easily keeping pace with him on her skates. The first time he’d been assigned to patrol with her, he hadn’t been quite sure what to expect. After all, without a miraculous how was she supposed to keep up with him? It turned out on her skates she was almost as fast as most miraculous users, and possibly faster than _him_ , miraculous-enhanced speed or not! The two of them ran north together, almost to the 9th Arrondissement, without needing to speak too much.

Taureau Dechaine was just about to turn west when Sk8r Girl startled him, cocking her head to one side and letting out a string of barks. He thought he heard an answering yip, and almost instantly Sk8r Girl let out a low growl and threw herself into a sharp right turn down a side street. Caught off-guard, Taureau Dechaine stumbled to follow her, catching up halfway down the block. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Nothing good,” she retorted, her jaw set ominously. “Or at least not if my new friend is to be believed.” He looked ahead to see a small poodle quivering beside the entrance to an alleyway, jumping up and down and barking. Sk8r Girl turned her head slightly. “Stay here,” she told him, drawing her field hockey stick from her back.

Sk8r Girl hurtled into a tight turn around the corner and down the alley, stick held high in front of her. Taureau Dechaine skidded to a stop at the alley entrance, next to the poodle. It looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he had seen it before. He frowned: the dog was well cared for and wearing a nice collar, in contrast to their grungy surroundings. He bent down to read the name on the collar, only to finally become aware of the noises coming from the alley.

“Hey, dirt bag!” shouted Sk8r Girl, followed by a decidedly-not-female grunt. Something struck bricks, and Taureau Dechaine heard the electrical discharge of a taser. A male voice let out a scream which almost immediately turned into a string of curses. At least two people were scuffling midway down the alley, punctuated by the sound of someone kicking someone else. Then the fight sounds moved closer.

Taureau Dechaine drew himself up to his full height as Sk8r Girl emerged from the alleyway, having retracted her skates and lost the handle half of her stick during the brawl. She was immediately followed by a man almost Taureau Dechaine’s own height and weight, who let out an angry grunt and aimed a punch at Sk8r Girl’s head. Sk8r Girl bobbed to one side, and the man struck the brick wall behind her. He shook his stinging hand with a howl of pain before turning on Sk8r Girl, only to find himself face-to-face with Taureau Dechaine. Before it really registered who and what he was looking at, he punched Taureau Dechaine in the chest, but Taureau Dechaine just tensed his pectoral muscles to take the punch before giving the man an incredulous look.

“Oh, crap,” the guy muttered, eyes finally showing recognition. He gulped in surprise, staring down at the spot where he’d punched Taureau Dechaine.

“This piece of crap is all yours, big guy,” Sk8r Girl announced, giving him a feral grin before running back down the alleyway. “I need to check on his victim!” she called behind her.

“‘Victim’?” wondered Taureau Dechaine, staring down at the man in confusion. “What’s going on here?”

The man grimaced and tried to shrug innocently. “No idea,” he answered, laughing nervously. “I mean, _women_ , am I right?”

He started to walk away, but Taureau Dechaine put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks. Something in the man’s tone of voice set off warning bells in his head. “Why don’t we wait here for my partner to return?” he suggested, giving his voice a bit of an edge and tightening his grip, not taking his eyes off the man’s face. The man’s eyes widened slightly, and he turned away to examine the brick wall.

In the silence that followed, Taureau Dechaine just barely heard the sound of whimpering from the alleyway, following by Sk8r Girl making soothing noises. “Damn,” she called out eventually. “I know her. It’s Annette.”

Taureau Dechaine looked up in surprise. That would explain why he knew the poodle: he knew an Annette who lived in Mylène’s building and had a dog just like this one. She was about three years behind them in school, so they had seen her every day their last year at François Dupont.

“He… he messed her up kinda bad,” Sk8r Girl reported. “Smacked her head against the bricks a couple times. It looks like she’s at least got a concussion. I–I’m not sure if he… if he had a chance to… if he…” She swallowed heavily.

Taureau Dechaine turned the man around to face him, fixed his eyes on him, and stared the man in the face. He clenched the hand not holding the man’s shoulder into a tight fist and calmly stated, “So you’re dead now.”

The man gulped audibly and, without warning, wrenched his shoulder out of Taureau Dechaine’s grip and raced down the street away from him. Taureau Dechaine muttered a curse and took off after him, Annette’s poodle hot on his heels and yipping frantically. However, the man hadn’t made it more than half a block before the poodle jumped, grabbing the man by the heel. He howled in surprise and pain and started hopping on one foot, the poodle dangling from his other ankle. Taureau Dechaine caught up to him, lifted his cattle prod, and popped the man over the head with the handle. The man fell to the ground boneless, and Taureau Dechaine grabbed him by one leg and dragged him back down the street, the poodle still latched onto the man’s other foot and snarling. He could just see a police car stopping in front of the alleyway.

Taureau Dechaine callously tossed the man’s prone form in front of the police car, where one of the two officers handcuffed him and placed him in the back of the car. Sk8r Girl emerged from the alleyway, supporting a familiar-looking girl a couple centimeters taller than her with light brown hair. The poodle raced over to her, and Annette bent down to pick it up, cradling it protectively in her arms, sobbing.

“My helmet cam caught the incident,” Sk8r Girl told one of the officers, gesturing to her helmet. “Or at least it recorded what was happening when we arrived. Pegasus will send the footage over to you in the morning.”

The officer nodded. “Thank you for your quick response. And for the prompt call. We can handle it from here.”

Sk8r Girl gave Annette an encouraging pat on the arm and turned to walk away, but Annette grabbed her wrist tightly. “P–please don’t leave me,” the girl whimpered.

Sk8r Girl nodded and took her hand. “You’re safe now,” she whispered, squeezing her hand gently. “That monster is going to jail for a long time, and if he even looks at you funny again, I’ll turn him into ground beef.” She guided Annette to sit in the front seat of one of the police cars. An officer draped a blanket over her shoulders, and she stared at the sidewalk in front of her, absently stroking the dog’s fur.

Taureau Dechaine turned away from them to see that the man had finally started to come around, looking around in confusion at finding himself in the back of a police car. “Do you know what my miraculous gives me?” Taureau Dechaine asked the man conversationally, leaning into the window so only he could hear. “It gives me strength. I’ve tested my strength a few times – holding the Eiffel Tower in the middle of a _tornado_ , stopping a runaway _plane_ dead in its tracks… but there’s one thing I’ve never tested. You know what that is?” The man stared at up him, eyes wide in terror. “The breaking point of a human body. I mean, will I need my special ability to tear you apart piece by piece like pulling off a drumstick, or might I just be able to do it with my normal strength?” He glared into the man’s eyes and put one hand on the side of his face, grabbing his upper arm tightly with the other. The man flinched. “Now you be a good little boy and play nice with the other inmates when you get to the jail. Because I’ll be watching. And any toe you step out of line, you will lose.”

At that moment the police returned to drive the man to jail and take Annette to the hospital. Sk8r Girl gave Annette a comforting shoulder squeeze before she left. Then she joined Taureau Dechaine and the two heroes walked away from the incident together.

“So that jackass really tried to–?”

“Yeah.” Sk8r Girl grimaced and kicked the ground in front of her.

“And did he…?”

“No.” She shook her head with a sigh. “No… we arrived just in time.”

“How could he _possibly_ have wanted to do something like that? To a _fourteen-year-old_!?!?!”

“If you ever figure out the answer to that one, Big Guy, be sure and let me know.”

Taureau Dechaine chuckled darkly. “You know, he’s lucky _you_ were the one who stopped him,” he commented. “If it had been me, I probably would’ve punched his ticket to the Moon!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geber (Nath) and Ayilon (Lise) find someone in need while on patrol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These “Patrol Logs” are generally disconnected from the timeline of the main story. So for example this doesn’t take place during “It Came from Outer Space.”

Around 9, Nathaniel transformed and slipped out his bedroom window for the evening’s patrol. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect; he preferred patrolling with King Monkey or Carapace, but tonight he was scheduled to go out with Ayilon. It’s not that there was anything wrong with their Haitian visitor; he barely knew her, and from their few interactions she was a nice enough girl. But the Americans seemed to have a different way of doing things.

Geber dropped to the ground in front of Montparnasse Tower to find Ayilon already there and waiting for him, running her bow along the strings on her arm contemplatively, moving her fingers to adjust the notes. The song she played sounded almost mournful. Then she shifted into an upbeat, excited tune.

“Is that purely from your miraculous, or do you actually play?” he asked, stopping a few meters from her.

“My miraculous improves my playing some, but I did play violin before receiving it,” she replied, stowing her bow and raising an eyebrow. Geber led the way out of the parking lot as she continued, “Some nights Marco won’t actually go to sleep for me unless I play him something!”

They scaled to the roof of the office building in front of them and raced from rooftop to rooftop through the arrondissement. Geber kept his eyes moving up and down the streets they passed, alert for signs of trouble. “As much as I enjoy music,” he told Ayilon, “I haven’t exactly unearthed any untapped abilities with it. I wanted to learn guitar at one time, but I couldn’t actually figure it out – too many moving parts.”

“So what _do_ you do?” Ayilon asked curiously, her voice trailing off as she hesitated for a moment to look down a street that housed a number of bars.

Geber followed her gaze to see a man stumbling toward a parked car. However, before he could act, the car’s lights flashed once and the man fell unsteadily into the backseat. “Must be an Uber or something,” he observed. “As for me, I’m more into the visual arts. I really enjoy drawing and painting. My partner and I have a comic book series we’re working on.”

“Oh?” she asked with some interest, turning to race down the bar roofs, Geber hot on her heels.

“We started a Ladybug comic book a little after Hawk Moth first showed up, and we’ve just kept going with it since then,” he explained. “My partner’s the writer; I’m the artist. Though every so often I give him suggestions to slip some of the _actual_ hero stuff into the comic!”

“And Ladybug lets you do that?”

“Occasionally she ‘suggests’ a change to throw off anyone looking at the comic as legitimate; sometimes I put in something to flat-out contradict so people don’t realize I have an inside angle. But other than that she’s pretty cool about it. But she did insist that we not even show anyone to have a civilian identity.” Geber started and skidded to a stop almost at the edge of the roof of the apartment beyond the row of bars. He couldn’t be certain, but some sort of rustling noise had drawn his attention. Not anywhere nearby; this must have been a couple blocks away. He closed his eyes and turned his head to focus in on his hearing and see if the noise would repeat. For several minutes he stood in that position, waiting. Then… he heard that same rustling noise again. He opened his eyes and glanced over at Ayilon, whose eyes had narrowed to slits. She nodded her acknowledgment and led off in the direction from which the noise had come.

Three blocks away, the two heroes stealthily dropped into an alleyway between two stores. Moving carefully to avoid making noise, they made their way slowly down to the middle of the alley. Geber stared in surprise at the darker shape huddled against one wall. It was a boy who looked barely old enough to start collège, curled up on his side, sleeping with his head pillowed on a backpack.

While Geber allowed his eyes to rove up and down the alley, Ayilon knelt next to the boy’s head and placed a hand on his shoulder. The boy jumped up into a sitting position, his arms coming up defensively in front of him. He stared in shock and fear at Ayilon, his eyes darting momentarily to Geber before returning to Ayilon. For her part, Ayilon leaned back and took her hand off his shoulder, holding both hands in front of herself calmly.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed, her voice low and nonthreatening. “We’re just a couple of heroes on our nightly patrol. You have nothing to be afraid of. What’s your name?”

“A–Alain,” the boy whispered hesitantly, still not allowing himself to relax.

“So, Alain, what are you doing in this alley in the middle of the night?” she asked, her voice lighthearted.

“What does it look like?” he demanded, a little more force coming to his voice. “I was trying to sleep, ‘til _you_ showed up!”

“Any particular reason you’re doing it in an alley instead of a bed?”

Alain sighed. “I just needed to get away from home,” he admitted. “My _father_ was out drinking again, and he and Mom started fighting. I just couldn’t deal with it anymore – I just had to get away from him.”

“Why?” Geber asked, speaking up for the first time.

Alain gave him a deadpan look, and in the reflected light from the streetlights Geber could finally see the boy’s black eye. “Normally he leaves me alone. Except when he’s been drinking. Then all he wants is to beat me.”

Geber set his jaw in anger. “Where do you live?”

Alain’s eyes shot wide open. “Please don’t take me back there!” he begged, his lower lip trembling in fear.

Geber knelt next to Ayilon and put a hand on Alain’s shoulder. “I promise you, we won’t make you go home if your father is abusing you,” he assured him. “But you can’t just sleep on the streets – it’s just not safe. Let us bring you somewhere to get a good night’s sleep, and then we’ll go and check that your parents are safe, too. Is that okay?”

Alain frowned but reluctantly nodded.

“What do you have in mind?” Ayilon whispered, to which Geber raised an eyebrow before withdrawing his spur and detaching the phone from the spur’s handle.

Adrien answered on the first ring. “Do you have trouble out there?”

“Actually, we have a favor to ask,” Geber replied. Adrien hummed in an invitation to continue, and Geber explained, “We found a kid on the streets who needs somewhere to stay for a night or two. Any ideas?”

Adrien sighed heavily. “Home isn’t an option?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Adrien clicked his tongue a couple times before saying, “As nervous as it makes me to have an outsider here, you can bring him over. Just give us a couple minutes to hide anything incriminating.”

“What do we tell him?”

Adrien chuckled. “I guess you can tell him that I owe the Heroes of Paris a favor. Hopefully that will satisfy him until we find a better solution.”

“Thanks,” Geber told him, hanging up. He glanced down at Ayilon and announced, “We’ll bring him to the Agreste place. Adrien owes us a favor, anyways.”

Ayilon stared at him in confusion for a couple seconds before catching on and nodding. “That sounds good.” Turning to Alain she added, “Let’s get you somewhere warm and safe for the night. In the morning we can figure out what to do from here.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryoku and Hato Gozen (Mira) go on patrol and meet a "friend"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are new, Hato Gozen is the Dove Miraculous holder. Her miraculous brings with it an affinity to “light magic,” which she generally uses more often than her actual miraculous ability.

After having dinner in the open air on the _Liberty_ ’s top deck, Kagami pushed herself up from the bench that she and Luka had claimed, with him following close behind her. Juleka, Rose, and Anarka stayed seated around the deck, discussing the lyrics for the newest single Kitty Section was planning to record. Kagami glanced back to see Juleka watching them walk down the gangplank, and saw her wink. She smiled back and gave her a small wave as Luka put his hand comfortingly on the small of her back. On reaching the foot of the gangplank, Kagami stopped and wrapped her arms around his chest, resting her head against his shoulder, and sighed in contentment. “I wish I didn’t have to leave already,” she whispered softly. “I’d like to take a walk together under the stars tonight.”

“Well, you _are_ going to be taking a walk under the stars tonight,” he pointed out, an amusing lilt in his voice. She leaned back and gave him a look. “Want me to take your patrol for you so you don’t have to leave?”

“That would kind of defeat the purpose of me _not_ doing it to have a little more time with you,” she noted wryly.

Luka hummed. “Who are you out with tonight?”

“Hato Gozen.” She pulled away, but he caught her hand and gave a gentle squeeze.

“Be careful,” he told her. “If you run into trouble, I’ll be there in a moment with the cavalry!” He jerked his head in the direction of the boat to emphasize the point.

Kagami giggled. “If we need the three of you, you’ll be the first to know!” She gave Luka a quick kiss on the lips, squeezed his hand, and raced off into the darkness as he turned to climb back onto the boat.

Longg slipped out of his accustomed place in her purse, swallowing the last piece of his fish as he did so. “It does my heart good to see you with your new ‘found family,’ Kagami-San,” he observed, sitting on her shoulder.

“While I am grateful to Mother for making time for meals together,” Kagami agreed, “there is something so… _different_ about Anarka.” She glanced behind her to see that the boat had faded into the night, and no one else was around to see her. “Longg, Bring the storm!” As Longg was sucked into her choker and red light engulfed her body, Ryoku leapt into the air, spinning into a back-flip and landing on the roof of the building next to her. Although she no longer lived solely for the freedom of her miraculous in the same way she had before Honfleur, even still nothing could match the sheer exhilaration of racing across rooftops, the wind whipping through her hair! She put on a burst of speed and covered the distance between the boat’s berth and the Eiffel Tower in moments to find Hato Gozen waiting for her next to one of the support legs.

“Good evening, Kagami,” Hato Gozen greeted her, nodding.

Ryoku smiled back. “And how are you, Mira?”

“Well, I spent the afternoon helping Marianne dust the light fixtures she couldn’t reach, so I’m more than ready for a good run!” She twisted her neck in either direction before racing toward the river.

Ryoku snorted and took off after her. “The downside of being the only one here with wings, I suppose!”

“Perhaps next time she’ll have you use Wind Dragon to blow the dust down!” Hato Gozen called back to her.

As they reached the water, Hato Gozen leapt out into space, shouted something in a foreign language, and sprouted a pair of white wings from her shoulder blades. Ryoku jumped just behind her, sailed halfway across the river, and caught the naginata pole that Hato Gozen extended down to her. Hato Gozen swung her forward, pumping her wings for altitude as she did so, and Ryoku released at the apex of the swing, spinning through a double back-flip to land on the other side. Running across the street she leapt, caught a balcony railing, and sprang off of it, up the side of the building and onto the roof. Hato Gozen took station flying slightly behind and above her as they jogged north.

“But how was your night?” asked Hato Gozen.

“It’s always awesome when I get to have dinner with Luka’s family,” she replied, grinning.

“Oh!” Hato Gozen drew the syllable out teasingly. “So you were with the _boyfriend_!” She gasped. “Does your mother know?”

Ryoku giggled. “Know? Sometimes, she even _pays_ me for it! We’re planning a Kitty Section concert in Le Havre, so of course I have to spend a lot of time with him – ‘working out the details,’ of course.”

“And how much of that time has actually been spent on planning this concert?”

“A lot actually,” Ryoku insisted. She smirked. “Listening to Luka play his guitar counts as concert prep, right?”

Hato Gozen let out a snort of laughter, though it died quickly. “You’re lucky to have him, you know that?”

“Believe me, I do,” she responded fervently, feeling her cheeks warm slightly. This time last year, her only real friend had been Adrien; now she had several close friends in Marinette, Chloe, and Sabrina, and even a boyfriend and surrogate family in Luka and his family. And beyond that, how amazing it was that, despite the circumstances of their first encounter, she could actually count Hato Gozen in that small-but-growing number of close friends!

She was just about to turn and run east along Rue la Boétie when movement coming from the northeast along the rooftops caught her eye. “Do you see that?” she asked softly.

“I do,” agreed Hato Gozen, matching her volume. She dropped to hover no more than a meter above the roof.

Ryoku narrowed her eyes and sprang across the street, landing on the traffic light in the middle and jumping from there to the other side. Hato Gozen’s wings disappeared as she landed next to Ryoku, and the two heroes raced side by side, angling toward the approaching figure. The person did not appear to have noticed them; it didn’t change direction or speed at all as they drew near. Once the distance had dropped to under a kilometer, Ryoku recognized her as Killer Bee.

“Lightning Dragon!” she shouted, drawing her sword and pumping it out directly at Killer Bee. Lightning coursed along the blade and shot in a straight line at Killer Bee. In the flickering light, Ryoku could see the look of shock on Killer Bee’s face as she dove to one side, narrowly escaping the lightning which missed her by centimeters and grounded through an antenna on the roof behind her. At the same moment Hato Gozen reformed her wings and caught a wind gust, launching herself ten meters into the air, rolling over once and diving in a ballistic arc toward Killer Bee, naginata extended. Killer Bee spun her top into a shield, angled it, and deflected the naginata into the roof tiles at her feet. Hato Gozen landed between Ryoku and Killer Bee, who kicked her in the side. Hato Gozen, however, shifted her naginata handle to block the leg before wrenching it out of the roof tile and retracting the handle down to sword length, dropping into a crouch as Ryoku reached them.

The moment her lightning had missed, Ryoku had put on a burst of speed and charged after it, reaching Killer Bee as she aimed another punch at Hato Gozen. Ryoku jumped over Hato Gozen, flipped, and landed behind Killer Bee, her sword already swinging at the villain’s back before she had fully landed. Killer Bee dropped to the ground, and Ryoku’s sword clanged against Hato Gozen’s blade above Killer Bee’s head. Killer Bee punched Hato Gozen in the shin and swept Ryoku’s legs out from under her, but Ryoku spun into a back-flip to stay on her feet, her momentum carrying her off the roof and down to the street below. She stumbled to plant her feet under her body on landing, as Killer Bee looped her top around a streetlamp and rode the string down to street level after her.

“You’re going to pay for taking that miraculous from Queen Bee!” Ryoku seethed, dropping into her accustomed fencing stance and taking a testing swipe at Killer Bee’s head.

Killer Bee blocked the sword with her top-shield. “Oh, you think _I_ took it from her?” she asked in an amused tone. “Please; I’m just the one making better use of it than that prissy Princess of Paris ever did!” Her top darted out at Ryoku’s arm, but Ryoku shifted her sword so the top caught around that instead. She jerked on her sword, trying to pull the top out of Killer Bee’s hands, but Killer Bee flicked her wrist to release its hold.

“If you don’t want us thinking you’re _with_ Lynchpin and Night Bat, then hand it over now,” Ryoku told her, eyes flashing dangerously. “Because we _are_ going to get that miraculous back from you, one way or the other. But you might not be able to walk away when we’re done!” Hato Gozen dropped silently to the ground behind Killer Bee. Ryoku raised an eyebrow, and Hato Gozen swept the flat of her naginata blade along the ground. Killer Bee’s eyes went wide, and she stumbled to keep her footing. Ryoku lunged forward, her fingertips just brushing against the miraculous hair comb.

“Venom!” Killer Bee caught her top and stabbed backward, catching Hato Gozen in the stomach. Hato Gozen froze, her naginata held at an angle facing the ground. In the same motion Killer Bee released the top and flicked it forward, skidding across the ground. It looped it around Ryoku’s ankle and pulled tight. Caught off-balance mid-grab, Ryoku couldn’t react before Killer Bee pulled it back, swung her up off the ground, and spun her around to crash into Hato Gozen. Hato Gozen fell to the ground unmoving, and Ryoku rolled off of her, stopped on her stomach, and sprang up into a sprinter’s stance. Killer Bee knelt next to Hato Gozen’s prone form and reached for the sky-blue sash around her waist.

Ryoku let out a guttural scream and dove forward, sword flashing in the yellow light of the streetlamps. She swung with all her might, nearly taking off Killer Bee’s hand – the villain only withdrew her hand with a second to spare. “Don’t even think about it!” Ryoku growled, taking a two-handed grip on her sword and standing over her friend’s immobile form.

Killer Bee spun her top to one side and gave Ryoku an evaluating look. She frowned and said, “Until next time, Lizard Breath,” before throwing out her top to loop around a streetlamp and swinging away.

Ryoku glared after her. With Hato Gozen down, she couldn’t leave her to go after Killer Bee, but… She swung her sword in an upward arc, shouting, “Wind Dragon!” A gust of wind tore down the street along the path traced by her sword, whipping loose branches and leaves from the trees and blowing trash in all directions, catching Killer Bee mid-swing and throwing her sideways, clear over the row of apartment buildings lining the street. Her shocked scream only faded when she was far out of sight.

Ryoku dropped to sit on the curb next to Hato Gozen, groaning in frustration. She reached into a pouch on her belt to find the simple black pen she always kept in her purse, clicked it twice, and removed the top end. Underneath was a tiny needle, which she carefully stuck in Hato Gozen’s arm, just below the sleeve of her short-sleeved miraculous suit. The anti-Venom Max had developed took effect a moment later, and Hato Gozen rolled her neck before pulling herself up into a sitting position.

“Thanks.” Hato Gozen rubbed her stomach, wincing. “As strange as it sounds after all that… I’m actually happy I met you and Viperion all those months ago. Even if my stomach isn’t too happy about our _latest_ ‘meeting’ at the moment!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After “Subjecting a God,” Max developed an anti-Venom for the Bee Miraculous’ Venom based on a blood sample he took from one of Killer Bee’s victims. All of the Heroes have a pen with the anti-Venom, and Max’s drones can also shoot darts loaded with it. However, at some point the Bee Miraculous user may become adept enough that the anti-Venom ceases to work.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carapace and Lupa Gris (Julia) see a little of everything on patrol

Carapace slipped out his bedroom window silently and pulled himself up the façade carefully, hand-over-hand, to the apartment building roof. Chris had already gone to bed, and his mom had just stuck her head in his room to let him know she was calling it an early night also since she had to leave at 4 for an early shift the next morning. Hopefully Chris wouldn’t sneak into his room tonight and find him missing – he’d done that once already when he was out on patrol, and it was only by luck that Alya had been there the next day when Chris asked him about it. Before Nino could say anything, Alya had cut in to insist that he’d snuck over to her house. Then she’d made loud kissing noises until Chris gagged and ran from the room covering his ears.

Carapace chuckled. Even if his little brother _did_ find out he wasn’t home any night, he’d probably just assume he was with Alya anyways!

Not that he wouldn’t be right half the time…

Carapace stood on the roof and closed his eyes, taking in the sounds of the city around him. He could hear people walking the streets below, probably on their way home to bed – or out to some party. Light traffic noise in the distance. Loud music from somewhere, probably a car stereo – whatever speakers they were using just weren’t made for that volume level; the music distorted far too much for his liking. Carapace strained his ears for any sounds that could indicate criminal activity, but didn’t hear anything. Satisfied, he opened his eyes, took a running start, and leapt to the next building over, angling in the direction of the Agreste Mansion.

A silver streak raced across the city from that direction to converge on his location about halfway there. “¡Buenas noches!” called Lupa Gris as she landed on the same rooftop where he was. “Or should I say, Bonsoir?”

“How goes it, dude–er, ma’am?” Carapace greeted her, grinning.

She gave him an unimpressed look. “Oh, you _children_ make me feel _old_ sometimes,” she grumbled, shaking her head. “Lise is only ten years younger than me, and she had to ask what a _cassette tape_ is!”

“Who still uses cassette tapes?” Carapace wondered, staring at her in confusion.

She narrowed her eyes and poked him in the chest with the head of her war club. “Do not start with me!”

“Um… vinyl’s the only way to go?” he added with a nervous grin.

“That’s better.”

Carapace laughed and led off on their patrol route around the city’s perimeter. It was a Friday night, so after an initial circuit they turned down one of the main streets, where Carapace could see a handful of people stumbling out of a bar pumping soft British classic rock into the atmosphere. As he watched, two men got into a fight beside a car. Carapace glanced over at Lupa Gris to see that she had noticed as well before jumping from the roof of a building across the street, spinning into a flip, and landing beside the two men. He stuck his shield between them, just as one went to punch the other in the face. His fist rebounded off the shield with a resounding clang, and the man howled in pain.

“That’s enough here, dudes,” Carapace told them as Lupa Gris grabbed the other man by the shoulder, preventing his retaliatory punch. A crowd started to gather around them, and Carapace gave the first man, who was still cradling his stinging fist, a hard look.

“He started it,” the man muttered sullenly.

Carapace raised an eyebrow. “And I’m ending it. Now what’s this about?”

“He said this is his car, but it’s clearly mine!” the other man shouted.

Carapace rubbed his forehead, nearly gagging from the alcohol stench on the man’s breath. “And should _either_ of you be driving right now?” he demanded rhetorically. The first man opened his mouth, and Carapace cut him off. “Don’t. Even.” He held out a hand. “Keys.” Although both resisted at first, a look at Carapace’s face – and the war club Lupa Gris was slapping against her palm – convinced them to comply. Carapace hit the unlock button on one fob and then the other. Two cars on the opposite side of the street responded, and he quickly locked them again. “I don’t think this car belongs to _either_ of you,” he observed wryly. “Call them a couple taxis,” he instructed the bar manager, who had come to investigate, tossing him both sets of keys. The manager nodded and pulled out a cell phone.

As the crowd began to disperse, the two heroes slowly walked away down the street. “I love Friday night patrols,” Carapace observed, shaking his head in amusement.

“You find all kinds,” Lupa Gris agreed, chuckling. “I–” She froze, her miraculous ears twitching. Quick at lightning she slammed the end of her war club to the ground at her feet. A bolas wrapped around the end.

Instinctively Carapace dove forward, rolled, and sprang to his feet just as a wad of chi-putty flew through the space where he had just stood. He spun around to locate the source as Lupa Gris shifted her grip on the war club, eyes peering into the dark alley they had just passed. Another bolas flew out of the alleyway, followed by a figure in brown robes wielding a quarterstaff.

It was the Deaconess.

“I will stop you, Miraculous Abusers!” she shouted, swinging her quarterstaff at Lupa Gris’s head. Lupa Gris parried with her war club and sprang back to avoid the Deaconess’s follow-up kick. She spun through a handstand, narrowly avoiding the piece of chi-putty that stuck to the sidewalk where her hand had been a moment before, as Carapace threw his shield at the Deaconess’s chest. She ducked the flying shield, which ricocheted off the wall behind her and bounced off a streetlight.

Carapace leapt and caught the shield with one-hand, slamming it home on his arm before aiming a powerful midair punch at the Deaconess’ head. “That’s not gonna happen!” he retorted. The Deaconess sidestepped his attack, and he dropped to the ground on landing, sweeping her legs out from under her. She fell to the ground and rolled backward to her feet, quarterstaff held loosely to one side. As she rose she raised her staff to parry an attack from Lupa Gris, redirecting her war club head into the ground. The Deaconess lowered her elbow to block a kick to her chest and stuck her staff between Carapace’s legs to trip him up. He kicked the staff, wrenching it from her grip and sending it clattering across the sidewalk.

The Deaconess ducked the shield Carapace swung at her head, parallel to the ground. “You will not harm the balance of the universe any longer!” she called, dodging a punch from Lupa Gris.

“I do not know where you get your information from, but _we_ are not the ones doing that!” Lupa Gris told her, blocking a kick with one hand and punching her with the other. “That is _your_ friends!”

The chi-putty came from nowhere.

Lupa Gris froze mid-punch as the chi-putty landed on her leg. The Deaconess spun around and kicked her in the stomach, knocking her to the sidewalk, the war club rolling away from her hand. Carapace swung his shield at the Deaconess with all his might, connecting with her chest and sending her flying into the street with a cry. She landed in a crumpled heap, gasping for breath.

“Lupa Gris got hit by chi-putty,” Carapace reported over his communicator.

“Sent-Bee is only a couple blocks from your location,” Turing answered immediately. “She is already en route.”

Carapace nodded to himself and turned his attention back to the Deaconess. She seemed to have recovered somewhat from the fall and was shakily pushing herself to her feet. Her torn robes and scraped cheek stood out clearly in the– “Oh, dammit,” he grumbled. Without hesitating, he threw himself into the street, caught the Deaconess in a flying tackle, and pushed her out of the way. They tumbled over twice as he cushioned her with his arms, finally coming to rest with her on top of him, straddling his chest, and one of his arms pinned under his shield and her arm. The car missed them by centimeters.

An indecipherable emotion ran through the Deaconess’s eyes as she stared at him. When she pushed herself slowly up to a kneeling position on his chest, placing one knee on his shield to keep his arm pinned, Carapace could see the chi-putty wad in her sleeve. Her hand drifted toward it, and he knew he couldn’t react in time, pinned as he was. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Finally she pushed herself off of him, backed up, and ran away, picking up her staff as she passed.

Carapace let his helmet fall back to the pavement and closed his eyes, releasing a relieved breath.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Monkey and Anansi save someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FF.net has been acting up since Sunday and I don't want to get out of sync between here and there, which is why I haven’t published anything new. If this goes up okay over there, maybe we can start moving forward...

After a long day of swimming tournaments, all Kim really wanted to do was stay at home and rest. He’d won the men’s butterfly, and his team had taken third place for the medley relay; Ondine had placed second in the women’s tournament for backstroke, and just missed third place for freestyle. He’d warned her that splitting her time between two strokes could hurt, but she had been adamant.

Thinking back on the tournament, he frowned. Something in the one spectator’s eyes during that last qualifier had rubbed him the wrong way. And the way he’d watched Ondine during her backstroke final…

“What’s the matter, catfish got your tongue?” asked Xuppu, spinning around in midair and laughing at his joke.

“Ha, ha,” Kim retorted, sticking his tongue out at the Kwami.

Xuppu hummed. “I suppose I already know what’s got your tongue,” he conceded, hanging from his tail in midair in front of Kim’s face and pinched his cheeks. “Or rather who you _wish_ had your tongue!” Kim scoffed and swatted at Xuppu, who swung in an arc around his tail, cackling merrily. “So are you planning to daydream about mermaid tail all night, or are we going to do this thing?”

Kim gave the Kwami an unimpressed look and transformed. Maybe he was just being paranoid. After all, people gave other people dirty looks all the time; that this one was directed at his girlfriend probably didn’t mean anything. He was probably just being paranoid. That’s it. With a quick glance at his clock he pushed the bedroom window open and crawled out to meet Anansi for the night’s patrol.

But he could still take a run through her neighborhood, just to make sure. After all, despite today’s tournament, Ondine had still gotten stuck with the closing shift at the pool after the late-night lap swim – meaning she would be on her way home around now.

King Monkey found Anansi sitting astride her Spider-Bike on the Pont au Change, revving the engine impatiently. “Where have _you_ been, Monkey Brains?” she demanded. “Hot date?” He could imagine the unimpressed look she was giving him under her padded yellow helmet and black face shield.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he retorted, wagging his eyebrows.

She shook her head. “Why do I have to babysit the problem children?” she muttered, rubbing her helmet’s forehead. “Right, let’s get this show on the road. South?”

“Actually, I thought we’d go north a few blocks and then hit the south,” King Monkey answered, racing north without waiting for a response, vaulting over the Quai, and swinging himself up onto the roof of the first building on that side of the street. Behind him, Anansi lifted the bike’s front wheel off the ground, swung it around to face north, and hit the gas, pulling the front wheel up into a wheelie and taking off after him at her top speed.

“Trying to ditch me, King-o?” she asked him, shouting into the communicator to be heard over the wind and engine noise.

“Nah, just testing that thing’s top speed!” he replied. “You’re falling behind!”

“We’ll see about that…”

King Monkey sprang off the roof he was on, planted his staff on the traffic light in the middle of the street, and flipped himself over, tumbling through the air across the street. At that moment a yellow object buzzed right past his head, breaking his concentration. He missed his landing and landed sideways, falling and tumbling over to sprawl out flat on his back on the roof. “That was seriously not cool,” he groaned, resting his head on the roof and closing his eyes.

“I don’t know, I think my Spi-Drone is pretty cool,” Anansi replied, snorting in amusement. “Any particular reason for picking this specific residential area?”

King Monkey pushed himself up and shook his head to clear away the cobwebs. “Bad guys can strike anywhere.”

“I’m sure.” She hummed. “Well, you might be in luck: the drone sees a couple people out. One’s holding a duffel bag just outside an apartment building, three blocks down and two buildings in from the Rue des Halles.”

King Monkey furrowed his brows. That was Ondine’s street, and only a couple doors down from her building. “What do they look like?”

Anansi scoffed. “This thing’s good, but not _that_ good.”

King Monkey raced across the rooftops, jumping the space between the buildings. On reaching the end of the block he dropped from the roof, bounced off the store awning below him, and propelled himself in an arc over the street. From the apex of the jump he could look down the street Anansi had described. Sure enough, there was someone with a duffel bag who matched Ondine’s height and build just reaching the stairs of Ondine’s apartment building, her red hair clearly visible in the light shining above the apartment building’s front door. She fished around in her pocket and pulled out a set of keys. King Monkey sighed in relief and was about to turn away when movement across the street caught his eye.

Someone who had apparently been hiding behind a parked car stood up and strode across the street without taking his eyes off of the girl that King Monkey was convinced had to be Ondine. He narrowed his eyes as he landed catlike on the roof of the apartment building at the end of the block. The two people met, and King Monkey’s eyes widened as a knife flashed in the light from the streetlamp. Ondine screamed. King Monkey drew back and launched his staff like a missile, straight at the knife hand. The staff hit the knife blade as it descended, and the man dropped the knife in surprise. Before it had connected, King Monkey had already leapt to follow the staff through the air, even as he heard the motorcycle engine roar and Anansi barreled down the street behind him, her front wheel coming off the ground as she accelerated. King Monkey landed on the would-be attacker’s shoulders and pushed him back to the ground, launching off of him in a back-flip that placed him between the man and Ondine.

“Don’t even think about it!” he spat, dropping into a fighting stance and clenching his fists tightly. Without taking his eyes off the attacker he found his staff in his peripheral vision, on the far side of the street next to the knife.

Anansi jumped off the bike and landed next to the man, who pushed himself up to his feet and lunged at King Monkey. King Monkey brought his elbow down on the man’s back, and he collapsed back to the ground, groaning in pain. Anansi pressed a button on her wrist, and the bike stopped and let out a long beep.

“It’s her fault!” the man growled.

“Bullshit,” King Monkey retorted.

“She cheated! My daughter would have won if _she_ hadn’t gotten a jump!”

“Ondine won that heat fair and square,” King Monkey scoffed. “I was watching, and no one jumped before the buzzer! And anyways, you’d seriously commit _murder_ over a _lycée swimming tournament_!?!”

“K–King Monkey?” Ondine’s voice sounded more confused than scared.

 _Crap; I really gotta be more careful_. He closed his eyes in frustration. _Still, at least it’s not a bear…_ He turned around and looked more closely at Ondine, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright, mademoiselle? He didn’t hurt you at all?” he asked, affecting a carefree grin. “Swimming parents, am I right? Almost crazier than football parents!”

Ondine narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously as he guided her away from where Anansi was standing over the irate would-be murderer, arms folded and drumming her fingers on her arm. “How do you know my name?” she asked, brushing his hand off her shoulder. “How did you know about my _race_ today??”

King Monkey grimaced. “Um… I’m just a friend who happened to be in the neighborhood to look out for a friend!”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “We’re… friends?”

“I’m… friends with everyone?” He flushed and glanced down the street, just in time to see a police car turning at the end of the block. “Hey, would you look at that! The police are already here! They’ll take good care of you!” He started backing away from her. “But I’ve got to… I’ve got to… get back to my patrol! That’s it! So I’ll… catch you later!” He raced down the street to catch up with Anansi as the police car screeched to a stop next to the semi-conscious would-be murderer.

Anansi turned to look at him as he matched her speed. “Real smooth back there, Romeo,” she commented wryly. “So were you going for creepy stalker or worried boyfriend?”

He laughed awkwardly. “I have no idea what you mean!”

She scoffed. “You’re a terrible liar, Monkey Boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was “attempted murderer.” That the potential victim was Ondine just… happened.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ayilon (Lise) and Multiplice (Mylène) cause and solve their own problem

Lise looked down at her watch as she trudged out of the bedroom, Marco having finally fallen asleep for the night after three bedtime stories, a glass of warm milk, and a half-dozen verses of “Dodo Titit.” Russa hovered next to her head, the Kwami’s antennae and wings drooping. Normally Julia handled bedtime for Marco, but she’d had to run back to Peru for a meeting with Paola and Dan and hadn’t wanted interrupt Marco’s routine and sleep schedule by bringing him back with her. Lise rubbed her eyes blearily and hit the button on the Keurig coffeemaker behind the Mansion’s security desk. “Patrol tonight won’t be much fun, will it?” she asked, plucking a bunch of grapes from the fruit bowl and passing it to Russa while she waited for the coffee to brew.

Russa shrugged. “You could have asked one of the others to cover for you,” she pointed out, tossing a grape in the air and catching it in her mouth. “Marinette would have been happy to do it – either the patrol or putting Marco to bed.”

“No, I can do it,” Lise insisted, chugging her coffee in a single gulp and crushing the Styrofoam cup on the counter. “I can’t let a mildly-misbehaved munchkin stop me from doing my duty!” She jogged out the front door and down the long driveway, Russa hovering at her side, her wings perking up in the cool fall air. Lise ducked into the closest alleyway and transformed, already jumping from side to side up the walls of the buildings on either side of the alley before her transformation had fully completed. The lime light of her transformation had only just faded when she reached the roof of the lower building and started racing toward the meeting spot. Ayilon inhaled deeply and allowed her eyes to drift shut momentarily as she ran across a smooth roof. Even more than the coffee, the wind whipping through her long dark hair always helped wake her up for these late-night patrols. This was one thing she would be sure to miss if they left Paris to return to Peru: the American Miraculous Team did not have a schedule of nightly patrols. But they had two continents to worry about, rather than just focusing on a single city!

Multiplice was already waiting for her near the middle of the Eiffel Tower. As Ayilon skidded to a halt at the base of the tower, Multiplice looped her jump rope around a beam and lowered herself down in front of her. Multiplice pulled Ayilon into a quick greeting hug.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ayilon apologized, grimacing. “ _Someone_ was being cranky at bedtime tonight…”

“Marco? Cranky?” gasped Multiplice melodramatically as they ran side by side beneath the Eiffel Tower toward the river. “Surely not!” She giggled. “Although he _is_ an adorable little guy, isn’t he?”

“Sometimes,” Ayilon agreed, “though in the bathtub he can turn into a water demon!” Multiplice caught her jump rope around one of the tower’s beams closest to the river, grabbed Ayilon’s arm, and swung them out and over the river, extending the jump rope’s length as they went until it stretched across the river. Ayilon landed on the opposite side and rolled to her feet in the same motion, racing to keep up with Multiplice.

Multiplice sighed. “Babies are so cute,” she commented. “I would love to have my own one day, but I don’t think my boyfriend really wants any.”

“I don’t know,” Ayilon argued, jumping from the ground to the roof of the closest building, Multiplice right behind her. “I think Taureau Dechaine would be a great father!”

“Oh, I agree,” replied Multiplice, nodding, “but does _he_ think that?”

“Have you asked?”

“Not really?” Multiplice blushed. “I mean, it’s come up, but not, like, _seriously_ … And considering we’re still in school, _and_ both heroes…”

Ayilon hummed contemplatively. “Marco’s the only _little_ , little child among our holders since I’ve been at the Temple,” she finally said before planting her foot on the edge of one roof and leaping across the street in a flip. When they were both on the other side she continued, “From watching Julia, it just takes adjustment. And help,” she added, grinning cheekily.

Multiplice raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering?”

“Are you saying you’ll need the help?” Ayilon smirked. “You’ll have to catch me first!” And with that she launched herself across the boulevard, landed precariously on top of a traffic light, and raced on her toes across the wire holding it up over the street. She could hear Multiplice running after her, and put on a burst of speed, zooming across rooftops at breakneck speed. Ahead of her she could see an even wider street, too wide for her to jump across. Looking down the block Ayilon saw a telephone wire strung above the street and angled straight for it. On reaching it she drew her bow from its place across her back, jumped, and threw the bow over the wire to swing across.

_Screeeeeeeeeeeee_

Ayilon winced at the cacophony from her bow running across the wire – if she hadn’t been holding the bow with both hands, she would have been covering her ears! On the other side of the street, Ayilon dropped to the roof of the building and rolled up onto one knee. She felt something wrap around her wrist and glanced down to see a jump rope, the other end of which was held by Multiplice.

“Caught you!” Multiplice grinned, giggling. “And no, by the way!”

Ayilon was about to respond when she heard the sound of crying from across the street. Up and down the street, windows were being pushed open and lights were turning on. In the window directly across from them stood a blonde-haired woman with a dark-skinned toddler in her arms, glaring up at the two heroes while the child bawled.

“Oh, poor August,” Multiplice muttered. “He was one of the youngest Akuma victims, you know…”

Ayilon groaned. “Stupid bow,” she grumbled. “Stupid noi–” She paused and stared down at the bow in her hand, glanced up at the baby, and grinned at Multiplice. Her bow may have been the _cause_ of the problem, but perhaps it could also be the solution. “Think you can follow my lead?” Multiplice cocked her head in confusion but shrugged, and Ayilon held the bow up to the strings along her forearm and began playing, flexing her fingers to change pitches. After she’d played a verse she nodded at Multiplice, who began singing:

_“Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques…”_

The wailing up and down the street started to lessen after the first time through. The second time through, Ayilon could see little August’s eyelids starting to droop. She gave Multiplice a signal and switched songs.

_“Au clair de la lune…”_

By the time she had finished playing her second song, there was silence on the block. She replaced her bow and slumped down to sit on the roof. Multiplice dropped down next to her. “Good thinking there,” Multiplice told her, nudging her.

Ayilon nodded weakly. “That’s actually what I was doing right before I came!” She snorted. “Would you believe it took longer to get Marco to bed than an entire street?”

“I believe it. Still, you did good!” Multiplice patted her on the shoulder. “But next time try _not_ to play a phone-line concerto at midnight!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Dodo Titit” is a common Haitian lullaby. “Frère Jacques” and “Au clair de la lune” are both common French lullabies (perhaps less common in English translation).


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bengalia (Juleka) and the Heretic (Pedro) make a new "friend"

Bengalia arrived at the designated meeting spot next to one of the fountains on the far side of the Trocadéro for her patrol with the Heretic a little after sundown to find him sitting quietly in the grass with his eyes closed and his quarterstaff lying across his lap. Quietly she crept up behind him, making no more noise than a cat. Smirking, she held her hands out just above his shoulders…

“Good evening, Bengalia,” he greeted her before she could touch him, without turning around.

Her hands fell to her sides. “How did you know I was here?”

“With chi one can extend their senses,” he replied, pushing himself up with his quarterstaff. He grinned. “That and I could see your reflection in the water.”

“Right.” She leaned to one side and then the other to stretch. “Ready to do this?”

He nodded as they jogged side by side out of the park toward the Avenue Kléber. “I’ll stick to the streets while you take the roofs?”

“Whatever works.” Bengalia sprinted ahead of him, crossed the street, coiled her legs, and sprang into the air. Landing on the awning of the restaurant closest to the street corner she bounced off of it, turned over in a flip, and landed on the balls of her feet on the roof. Below her the Heretic had made it across the street and started jogging along below her. Bengalia ran ahead to the end of the block, leapt across the street, and ran a couple buildings down the side street before pausing, ears twitching in every direction, to listen for any sign of a disturbance. Hearing nothing, she returned to the Avenue just as the Heretic arrived below her. They progressed in that way for several blocks without speaking before Bengalia finally broke the silence.

“So what’s the deal with the robes, anyways?” she asked. She snorted. “Fashion statement? 1320s chic? I mean, I’m pretty sure Marinette would be happy to help you update your wardrobe by a few centuries!”

“The Dark Acolytes of the Mundane eschew the trappings of the world in favor of a simpler way of life that focuses more on spiritual discipline. Fancy clothing can be a distraction from honing the body. Dark Acolytes reject anything that would draw focus away from the self.”

“Huh.” She was silent for a moment. “So you’re saying the reason you can’t have nice clothing is because you don’t like miraculous.”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” he allowed, chuckling.

“But you’re already a ‘heretic,’ so why can’t _your_ group have nice things?”

He scoffed. “Honestly? At this point the robes are just more comfortable. I’m used to fighting in them.”

“I’m just saying,” she replied, “you’re boarding with a legit fashion designer; might as well take advantage.”

He hummed noncommittally. “Perhaps.”

Bengalia jogged down yet another side street to wait for him to catch up. They had passed out of the business district several blocks back and into a residential neighborhood. Her ears strained to filter out the noise of late-night partiers and traffic to listen for the quieter sounds of potential crimes. She was just about to turn back toward the Avenue when her miraculous ear twitched: a crunching sound, and close to her location. It wasn’t much, but worth checking out. Without another thought, Bengalia jumped across to the next building, closer to where the sound had come from.

Two buildings down, near a third floor window, a darker shape was clambering up the side of an apartment building, climbing up a drainpipe while supporting half its weight with the toes of its shoes pressed into the tiniest gaps between the bricks. Bengalia watched in surprise as the person reached a window, peeked through the closed blinds, and pulled a small penknife from somewhere. Slipping the knife blade into the space between the two parts of the window it forced the lock to disengage before placing one gloved hand on the glass and carefully sliding the window up. The person slipped through the half-open window and into the apartment.

“I think we’ve got something here,” Bengalia reported, her voice barely above a whisper. She gave the address and raced over without waiting for the Heretic’s acknowledgement. Stepping off the roof of that same building into space, she dropped two floors to the now-open window. Reaching out a hand she caught the top of the window frame, brought her legs together, and slipped feet-first through the window, bending backward to avoid smacking the top of the windowpane. She landed on her feet and sprang back around into a somersault, rising to her feet in what appeared to be a child’s bedroom. The bed, however, was empty and appeared not to have been slept in that night. Bengalia could hear rustling coming from the next room over. Following the sounds she stopped in the doorway of another empty bedroom to find the burglar, a slight man wearing navy blue clothing with black gloves and ski mask, stuffing jewelry into a small pack around his waist.

“I’m pretty sure that isn’t yours,” she observed, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow at him.

The man jumped back as though he’d been shot and spun around to face her. “Hero!” he shouted in surprise, eyes widening visibly under his ski mask. The same penknife he’d used to break in was in his hand.

“Really? Where?” Bengalia turned as if to look, giggling in amusement. Eyeing his knife she gave him a deadpan look. “Oh no, you have a knife. Whatever will I do?” She smirked. “Oh, right.” She clenched her fist to deploy her claws. “I have three of those!”

The man glared at her and retracted the knife into his sleeve. Cocking his head to one side he sized her up quietly, frowning. Bengalia remained where she was, claws extended, watching him, outwardly relaxed but inwardly primed to spring into action.

“Police have been dispatched,” reported Turing in her ear over the communicator. “ETA five minutes.”

Bengalia made no move, but the burglar suddenly sprang into action, lunging forward at her chest with a yell. Bengalia dropped into a stronger stance, raising her arms to catch him and retracting her claws, but the man contorted in midair, dropped to the ground and slid between her legs. She scissored her legs together to catch him around the waist, but he twisted onto his side and slipped away. “Damn!” she shouted, spinning around and chasing him through the apartment to the front door.

The man reached it just before she did, threw it open, and raced out into the building’s central stairwell. He swung himself over the railing into space, caught his feet on the edge of the landing, and jumped backward across the empty space, spinning in midair to catch the landing on the floor below. He quickly progressed down to the ground level in that manner, reaching the ground just as Bengalia jumped over the railing and dropped straight down to the ground.

“Now where do you think _you_ ’re going?” she demanded as the man bolted for the building’s front door. He threw it open and ran outside – only to be clotheslined by the quarterstaff that the Heretic held up right at head level.

The burglar fell backward, his head cracking into the entryway mat, and blinked up owlishly at the two heroes standing above him as blue lights flashed from the street. Slowly he sat up and rubbed the back of his head with a hand, wincing in pain.

“You know _I_ would have gotten him eventually,” Bengalia observed in amusement.

The Heretic shrugged. “This is why we go out in teams, right?”

Two police officers approached from the sidewalk and looked down at the burglar. The first one, wearing a sergeant’s stripes, pulled a pair of handcuffs from the pouch on his belt and slapped them on the burglar’s wrists. “Dumont!” He greeted him with a laugh. “I wondered when we’d run into you again, Monte-en-l’Air.”

Dumont glared up at the officers, his lips set in a firm line, and said nothing.

Ignoring him, the sergeant turned to the two heroes and gave them a curt nod. “Thank you both for catching this one. Laurent Dumont is something of a frequent flier down at the precinct. Suspected in a string of burglaries, but we never had anything definitive to connect him to one.”

“Check apartment 3B,” Bengalia told him, jerking her thumb back into the building. “I watched him break in there through the kid’s window, and he has some of their jewelry in his bag.”

The sergeant nodded and handed Dumont to the other officer, who brought him down to the car. “We can take it from here, heroes. Thanks for your help.”

“Our pleasure, officer!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was already planning this one out when I got the suggestion to use “Patrol Logs” as a way to introduce more “gimmicky” or “one-off” villains. So Monte-en-l’Air could show up again…


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pinky (Rose) and Multiplice (Mylène) have a situation to deal with

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this “Patrol Log” came from Elanora Kacey (on FF.net). If you have any ideas, let me know! I don’t use all of them, but sometimes they inspire something else.
> 
> As a reminder, “Patrol Logs” are somewhat time-independent of the multi-chapter stories happening around them. [“A Bees’ Life”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630071/chapters/67600745) largely takes place over a single day and night, and Ryoku and Viperion are the heroes on patrol that night (with Sent-Bee and Duchesse Bleue (read that story for context on that) going out independently). So this isn’t taking place that same night. Events and characters in the other stories will get referenced in “Patrol Logs” and vice versa, but that’s as much of a time indication as the “Patrol Logs” will have.

Miss Pinky arrived at Notre Dame just as Multiplice was letting herself down from the cathedral roof by her jump rope. Multiplice pulled out a pastry bag with the Tom and Sabine logo on the front and passed over an éclair. “Here you go!” she told her, beaming excitedly and pulling out another one for herself. “Taureau Dechaine and I had supper with Ladybug and Cat Noir tonight, and Ladybug sent these along for us.”

Miss Pinky giggled and shoved the whole thing in her mouth. “Marinette really is the best, isn’t she?”

“Totally,” Multiplice agreed, nodding. She pulled out a pain au chocolate for Miss Pinky and a couple macaroons for herself before crumpling up the bag tossing it in the nearby trash can. “Ready to start?”

Miss Pinky dropped into a sprinter’s stance and smiled in excitement before taking off at a brisk jog around the island, Multiplice jogging along beside her. As they went they talked animatedly about school. Miss Pinky knew that Multiplice was interested in performance, though she didn’t consider herself very musically talented. “Are you and Taureau Dechaine going to go to the concert this weekend?” she asked as they crossed the Pont Neuf and turned to run west along the north side of the river.

Multiplice shook her head. “Not this time,” she replied, frowning. “Taureau Dechaine has to work that day, and my father wants my help with his classes.”

Miss Pinky sighed sympathetically. “That’s too bad. It’s supposed to be really good; the band is a group of the best collège musicians in Paris!”

Multiplice shrugged. “What’re you going to do?” she asked rhetorically. “There’s always the next one.”

“So do you like helping your father?”

Multiplice nodded, smiling. “It’s so much fun! This weekend the class I’m helping him with is just about the youngest group, one of the extra école élémentaire classes he teaches, and it’s amazing just how eager they are to learn!”

“That’s something I’ve never been interested in,” Miss Pinky admitted. “Teaching, I mean. I love kids, but I can’t put up with so many of them for so long!”

Multiplice giggled, but stopped suddenly. Miss Pinky looked around, confused. They had been so busy talking she hadn’t realized that they had already made it almost to the Pont de l’Alma. The _Liberty_ was berthed a little further along, just out of sight around the bend. However, Multiplice wasn’t looking at the river. Instead, she was looking at the small park a little north of the river, surrounded by tall brick buildings. The park wasn’t very large, only containing a couple pieces of playground equipment in a ring of rubber cushioning. A small number of trees stood around the perimeter of the park, with a bench below one of the trees where parents could sit and watch their children. Across the street was a bus stop, with a new Metro station located near one end of the park. The park, however, had started going to seed.

“How sad!” Multiplice groaned, staring at the thin layer of trash that had built up just off the path. “There’s a trash can right there, but no one could be bothered to actually use it!”

Miss Pinky narrowed her eyes, analyzing the scene. Not only was there trash strewn all over the part, but the landscaping hadn’t been cared for in ages: just looking at the shrubs around the park, they had all been allowed to grow wild. “And these bare spots in the grass! It really needs to be replanted, but if they don’t do it soon, it may not be able to grow – or at least not until the spring.”

“It’s such a shame to leave it like this.” Multiplice put her hand on the jungle gym. “My mom used to bring me to this part all the time.”

“You know,” Miss Pinky began thoughtfully, “I could do something about these bald patches.” She pulled her jiuchidingpa from its spot on her back, twirled it once, and slammed the rake head into the ground, leaving nine small indentations.

“Well, if _you_ ’re going to take care of the plants, _I_ can take care of the trash!” Multiplice twirled her jump rope around and shouted, “Multitude!” A small army of clones ran out of the spot where she stood and scattered throughout the park. Presently a growing pile of garbage appeared on the ground next to the trash can.

“You really didn’t think this through, did you?” Miss Pinky teased, kicking the can over and pushing the pile of trash inside with her rake. Looking around critically, she drove the rake head into the ground in the middle of the largest bare spot and called, “Cornucopia,” before racing around the park, dragging the rake through the dirt behind her. As she passed one of the Multiplice clones, Miss Pinky told her, “I’m going to plant some tulips along the path. I think that will look pretty.”

The clone hopped on top of the rake head and clambered up to Miss Pinky’s arm. “Oh! Can you plant some sunflowers, too?”

Miss Pinky closed her eyes and concentrated on what she wanted, and nodded, smiling. The clone hopped down and grabbed a discarded candy wrapper and soda can both of which were larger than herself and carried them back over to the trash can.

About five minutes later, Miss Pinky met up with the newly reconstituted Multiplice as the latter was setting the now-overflowing trash can back upright. The bare patches in the grass had completely disappeared, and a row each of tulips and sunflowers had sprouted alongside the sidewalk. They looked over the park and grinned. Miss Pinky held out her fist for Multiplice to bump, wiping her brow with the other hand. “That was a lot of work.”

“I’ll say,” Multiplice agreed, stretching her arms. “It’s too bad we can’t automate some of this.”

Miss Pinky hummed and turned to look out over the river, just in time to watch a bag full of trash float past. She frowned. “What if we actually _could_ automate picking up trash?”

“What do you mean?” Multiplice cocked her head in confusion.

“I mean, what if Pegasus could build drones that can pick up trash? And clean up the river?”

Multiplice’s eyes went wide in excitement. “That would be so cool! I mean, if he can build drones that can take videos and shoot and stuff to help with missions, then why not some that can help the environment?”

Miss Pinky nodded eagerly as another voice sounded over their communicators. “I hope I am not intruding,” Turing said. “I was monitoring your conversation, and I just submitted your suggestion for Pegasus to consider.”

“Thanks,” Miss Pinky answered. “Now make sure he doesn’t forget it!”

Multiplice stifled a giggle as they left to continue their patrol along the Seine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I don’t point these out, but this one is a serious deep-cut. There’s a bit of an Easter egg in this chapter: the park they cleaned up has appeared before in the “Mind Games”-verse. Any ideas why it’s significant?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geber (Nathaniel) and Carapace encounter a villain and have a heart-to-heart about what it means to be a hero

Nath finally shut off his laptop just before nine and checked his watch blearily. He still hadn’t finished the essay due tomorrow for history, but maybe he would have some time to add the conclusion paragraph after he returned from patrol.

On his nightstand, Orikko flapped his wings in agitation. “Come on, come on,” the Kwami whined. “If we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late!”

“Always so overeager,” Nath chided him gently. But with a chuckle he transformed and slipped his bedroom window open to sneak out. He jumped across the narrow alley separating his building from the one next to it, caught the drainpipe with practiced ease, and scrambled up to the roof, following a route he could trace in both directions in his sleep – and had after patrol one night.

Geber arrived at the riverfront just as Carapace jumped down from the roof of a nearby machine shop. “What’s up, Turtle Boy?” he called, grinning with anticipation. “What’s the plan for tonight? South?”

Carapace affected a carefree attitude and shrugged. “Nah, dude, I was actually thinking about following the Seine upriver a ways…”

Geber narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Something about Carapace’s posture and attitude felt… off. He shrugged. “You’re the boss-man.”

Carapace grinned too widely. “And don’t you forget it!” He set off at a brisk pace, racing across the bridge and scrambling up the side of the closest building.

Geber followed closely behind him, jumping up onto the bridge’s railing and running across it as a balance beam. On reaching the end of the bridge he jumped out into the street, tumbled over in midair, slammed the end of his spur into the pavement, and pushed off. He landed on the balls of his feet on top of a bus shelter and, without losing momentum, sprang from there to grab onto the upper-story balcony railing of the same building Carapace had climbed up. Less than 30 seconds later he was up on the roof and chasing after Carapace, who was already halfway down the block. Geber grunted and followed him through a half-dozen turns. They left behind the businesses, passed through a residential area, and finally came out into a commercial area with wide streets lined by warehouses. Suddenly, Geber’s ears perked up: glass breaking. Something was happening at one of the warehouses. The ground rumbled. Carapace had already taken off in that direction, leaving Geber to chase after him.

“What’s going on?” demanded Geber, pulling up next to Carapace on the roof of a warehouse close to the direction from which he’d heard the noises. Carapace didn’t answer, standing quietly and staring down into the warehouse loading dock. Geber turned to follow his gaze, and his jaw dropped open.

The warehouse loading yard was crisscrossed with long furrows that had churned up the asphalt in a series of straight lines. Although the wreckage had clearly been removed months ago, he could still make out the signs of where cars had burned, the asphalt under them having melted and pooled from the heat. Shipping containers lay spread out around the area, next to a warehouse with every window shattered, holes punched through the walls, and a very distinctive hole in the sagging roof. And in the center of all this destruction stood Tyran-X.

Geber tensed and flexed his hands around his spur. Finding the button to disconnect the two halves he separated it, one baton in each hand, opening the blade at the end of the one in his right hand. He dropped into a crouch, narrowed eyes focused on the villain. He was just lunging forward to the attack when Carapace placed a hand on his shoulder to restrain him, shaking his head.

“Leave him be,” Carapace told him firmly, mouth set in a straight line, his eyes still on Tyran-X.

Geber cocked his head in surprise, staring at him. “Isn’t fighting the bad guys kind of what we do?”

“Not this time and in this situation it isn’t.” Carapace was silent, not turning away from the scene before them. Tyran-X snagged his lasso around the old, burned-out shell of a car, lifted it into the air, and slammed it down into the ground. The buildings around shifted with the crash. A massive crater formed in the center of the yard, with the car in the center. Geber turned to stare at Carapace, eyes narrowed suspiciously. He was about to ask the obvious when he noticed the sad look in Carapace’s eye. “This is just something he needs to work out of his system.”

“You know why he’s here.” It wasn’t a question.

Carapace nodded quietly. “This is where his wife died.” He sighed heavily, shoulders sagging. “And today would have been her birthday.”

Geber’s eyes opened and he rocked back in shock. “You know who he is.”

Carapace snorted. “Did you really think that Rena Rouge _wouldn’t_ track that down, with how much information he gave us back in the spring?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Geber. He let out a soft bark of laughter. “She actually figured it out in less than fifteen minutes when she finally had the time and emotional capacity to follow up on everything he’d said. That was the _easy_ part.”

“So if you know his identity, why haven’t we stopped him already?”

Carapace grimaced. “That is the question, isn’t it…” he asked bitterly. He shook his head, turned to stare down at where Tyran-X was driving his fists through the solid metal shipping containers like they were cardboard. “Unfortunately, it’s not quite that simple,” he explained, jaw set in a hard line. “He left his apartment without a forwarding address little more than a week after it happened, and he doesn’t have any other family in the area that he visits. So we know his name, date of birth, favorite restaurants, preferred TV genres… and we can’t really do anything with it. This is one of those situations where just punching the bad guy won’t actually solve anything.”

Geber raised an eyebrow. “You don’t really _want_ to confront him, do you?”

Carapace’s shoulders tensed. “We’re superheroes. We’re not allowed to be cowards.” He dropped to sit on the edge of the roof and patted the ground next to him for Geber to sit as well. “Rena Rouge and Miss Pinky still blame themselves for what happened.”

Geber let his legs dangle, idly kicking the warehouse wall with his heels. “Was it their fault?”

“Kinda?” Carapace shrugged. “Not really? It’s maybe sixty-forty between Lynchpin and them. I mean, they did come here looking for a fight – or at least expecting Lynchpin to react when they caused him trouble. But at the same time, they weren’t planning on a civilian being here and getting caught up in a _literal firefight_. For _that_ matter, they didn’t actually know she was there, _or_ that Lynchpin would bring in guys with flamethrowers as fast as he did to remove Miss Pinky’s hedges. If they’d known, maybe Rena would have come up with something different to get Lynchpin’s attention that night. Maybe Miss Pinky would have gotten her car out of the way first – or pulled her out when the fire started. Maybe they would have called in Ryoku to put out the fire before it got to her car. But they didn’t. And a woman died.”

Geber sat quietly next to him, waiting for him to continue, staring down into the warehouse loading yard where Tyran-X was continuing his rampage. By now he had smashed one of the empty shipping containers in half. Picking up one half with his bare hands, he spun around and hurled it into the side of the warehouse with an angry bellow. The container slammed through it with a colossal crash of rending metal. The warehouse wall buckled under the assault, bringing down half the roof with it.

“That’s the hero gig,” Carapace muttered quietly. “We can’t save everyone. And when we can’t – our responsibility or not – we have to live with the consequences.” He turned to Geber, a pained expression in his eyes. “You know Rena put today in her phone? Today, their anniversary, the day she died… She’s been completely out of it all week leading up to this. Imagine it: grieving for a woman she never knew.” He sighed affectionately. “But that caring spirit is what kept her in this hero gig – for good and for ill. She even wanted to be the one out here on patrol tonight, but I convinced her to let me do it for her.”

Geber brought his knees up to his chest and hugged his legs, watching as Tyran-X finally fell to the ground sobbing, slamming his fists into the ground, gouging out deep potholes in the pavement. “It doesn’t seem strange to me,” he admitted. “I get feeling guilt over this, even though it wasn’t their fault that it happened. Hell, if it were me, I don’t know if I’d ever be able to face someone who became a super-villain _because I killed his wife_.” He frowned. “So are we just going to sit here and watch him smash the warehouse apart?”

Carapace nodded. “That’s the idea,” he answered. “It’s been abandoned since a couple days after the incident. Lynchpin moved his people out and didn’t bother to repair the pavement, and no one has moved into it since then. And on a hunch Pegasus checked to make sure no one was working late nearby – and alerted the police to avoid the neighborhood. So unless Tyran-X tries to hurt someone – himself or one of the neighbors – and unless he does something that could put other people in danger… yeah. We’re just going to sit here and watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I had a whole big fight sequence planned out for Geber to fight Tyran-X and show off all the cool features on his spur (he can actually use it as about 5 different weapons; he’ll get a chance to shine with it in an upcoming story), but then I started thinking about why a revenge-motivated villain like Tyran-X would be out for them to fight and… this happened. For those who started reading recently, Tyran-X revealed in [“Ladybug’s Gambit”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25245559/chapters/61198363) that his wife had been killed in a skirmish between the Heroes and Lynchpin’s forces. A skirmish that occurred (in “The Queen is Dead: Mission Logs” chapter 3, [“Cornucopia”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791269/chapters/60047851)) because Miss Pinky planted a hedge maze in front of this particular warehouse to draw Lynchpin’s attention, not realizing that one of the “abandoned” cars in the lot wasn’t actually abandoned. Today would have been my wife’s birthday, so this seemed like an appropriate “Patrol Log” for today.
> 
> Don’t worry; next week’s “Patrol Log” isn’t _nearly_ this heavy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryoku has a conversation with the newest member of the Heroes of Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Patrol Log and the next one are being published during [“Guys’ Day Out,”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27894199/chapters/68304304) but they don’t take place during it (or at least not during the main events), given that chapter 2-13 of “Guys” take place over the space of a long afternoon. It could be the week between chapters 1 and 2, or it could be the 3 weeks since the concert (from “Life and Times”), or it could be after “Guys”; there aren’t any mentions of “Guys” in these two – that comes later.

Kagami checked the patrol schedule on her phone for the fifteenth time that evening before tossing the phone across the room onto her bed. “Why am I with him?” she asked, frowning at Longg in irritation.

The Kwami shrugged. “I do not know, Kagami-San. Perhaps they trust you to be his introduction to the Heroes of Paris?” He tossed his last sardine up and caught it in his mouth, almost swallowing it whole. “But if you do not leave shortly, you will be late.”

“You’re right, of course,” she grumbled, transforming and slipping out her bedroom window. “All the same, I would much rather go on patrol with Viperion or Cat Noir or Ladybug. Or even–” she made a face “–King Monkey.”

Ryoku raced across the city, skirted along the Seine – she almost stopped when she heard Luka and Juleka playing a duet on the deck of the _Liberty_ as she passed – and finally reached the edge of the Champ des Mars, where she could see an orange-red figure pacing in front of the Eiffel Tower. She backed up to the opposite side of the roof, raced across, and flung herself out into space, spinning her sword above her head as a propeller to give herself a few more meters of lift. She dropped to the ground directly in front of Victor, landing so close that she almost brushed against the alien’s fur.

“Good evening, Ryoku,” he greeted her, bobbing his head slowly, as if unsurprised at her sudden appearance directly in front of him.

She raised an eyebrow at him in resignation. “Let’s get this over with.” With that she took off across the park at close to her top speed. The trees and shrubbery cleared away as she reached the edge of the park, planted her foot on the edge of the sidewalk, and leapt over the street. She caught the bottom of the traffic light with one hand, swung her legs to build momentum, and launched herself over the rest of the street, turning over once in a flip before landing upright on the roof of the building across from the park. She turned around to watch as Victor slowly reached the edge of the park, jogged across the street, and clambered up the building’s fire escape.

“I apologize,” he told her once he had reached the roof, leaning over and panting slightly. “I thought my people were fast, but you miraculous heroes are in a class of your own!”

“Not all of us,” she replied, smirking. “But me? Definitely. Ready to move?”

He frowned, but she was across the roof and three buildings over before he could open his mouth. The night was just starting to get cool; autumn was finally starting to set in for real. Last weekend she and Luka had just spent the afternoon walking through the Trocadéro and looking at the leaves that were just starting to change colors. Luka had started whistling a new song while they walked, she’d leaned her head on his arm…

“What is that tune you are whistling?” Victor cocked his head to one side, his ears turned in her direction.

“Huh?” She hadn’t realized he had caught up, _or_ that she had been whistling out loud. “It’s nothing. Time to move on?”

“Wait,” interjected Victor, putting one paw on her wrist to prevent her from racing away yet again. Ryoku’s sword was in her hand in an instant and she fixed a glare on him. He took his paw off of her and raised them both in a placating gesture. “I can tell that you are on edge, but I have no idea why.”

“I used to have no one I truly trusted, not even my own mother – not really,” she explained, stepping back and turning away from him. “I was alone, without a friend in the world. Then I met the man whose house you are staying at, and he and his girlfriend welcomed me. They made me their friend, and they trusted me. I do not take that lightly.

“So now there are exactly six people in this world that I absolutely trust unquestioningly,” Ryoku informed him through narrowed eyes. Her sword dropped to her side, but she didn’t sheathe it. “All of the Heroes of Paris either are one of them or were recruited by one of them. All except you. I don’t know you. You’re the wildcard here, and you are living with my friends. So why should I trust you?”

The alien’s ears lay down flat on his head. “I understand your reticence, Ryoku,” he confessed. “Trust is not something that comes easily for me, either – a ‘hazard of the job,’ you might say.”

“And what job is that?”

He let out a cackling laugh. “I’m an intelligence officer.”

She arched an eyebrow at him, folding her arms over her chest.

“A spy?” He sighed. “My entire job is to get close to people to get the information I need from them and report it back to my handler.”

“You’re not exactly selling yourself as trustworthy here…” Ryoku pointed out wryly.

He nodded. “I realize that. I don’t think the other heroes trust me all that much, either,” he admitted.

“So why _should_ we trust you?” asked Ryoku, frowning.

Victor’s shoulders slumped. “You don’t normally become a spy because you have a _good_ family life,” he explained. “When I enlisted, it was because I didn’t have anyone. When I went into the intelligence branch, it was to do more to help stop the Shunjar from invading – to put an end to the war. Then I came here.”

“Then you got _stuck_ here.”

“Then I got stranded on your planet,” he amended. “And the only reason I’m here is because the Shunjar are interested in your planet. If they weren’t, we wouldn’t have crashed here and I wouldn’t have met you and your friends.”

“But you’re still a spy.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re still collecting information about us – don’t try to deny it. So _who_ are you telling?”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Would you believe me if I said ‘no one’?” he asked. “I have not had contact with a member of my own species since before the Shunjar discovered me on their ship. So even _if_ I am collecting information about you, I have no one to tell. And even if I had someone to tell, I have no reason to do so.”

She furrowed her brows. “So you’re on our side now,” she deadpanned. “How am I supposed to believe that?”

“Pegasus believes it,” Victor pointed out calmly. “Ladybug and Cat Noir accepted that I’m on your side.”

“As much as I trust them, I’m _not_ them – _I_ ’m the suspicious one in the group.” Ryoku arched an eyebrow. “So humor me.”

Victor shrugged. “The Shunjar want your planet to join the war on their side; I do not want that. Our goals align.”

“For now, at least,” Ryoku agreed. “But when they do not, know one thing: the Heroes of Paris are my _family_. And I _will_ protect my family. No matter what.”

Victor gave her an evaluating look before he finally nodded in acquiescence. “It is… refreshing… to see such friendship and loyalty among your group,” he admitted. “I realize I have not earned it, but I hope one day I might.”

“We shall see.” Ryoku sheathed her sword and held out her hand. “For now we are allies, but I will still be keeping an eye on you.”

He nodded and took her hand. “I expect nothing less, Ryoku.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sent-Bee (Chloe) and Multiplice (Mylène) hit a bit of a snag on patrol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This “Patrol Log” occurs some time after [Chapter 8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771119/chapters/68254306) of “The Life and Times of the Heroes of Europe.” And as a reminder, this doesn’t occur during [“Guys’ Day Out,”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27894199/chapters/68304304) since that story only takes place over an afternoon.

It was a little after ten, and Sent-Bee was jogging down the street as fast as she could, Bee-atrice hanging out of the carrying pouch on the front of her uniform, trying to keep up with Multiplice. She could tell Multiplice was hanging back significantly, and while on a certain level she appreciated it, she couldn’t help the feeling of insult that came along with it. She used to be _Queen Bee_! She was one of the heroes who took down Mayura! She used to swing from building to building; with her top she could keep up with Ladybug herself! And although she had proven herself on multiple occasions despite her lack of powers, she was still as likely to be a liability as an asset on patrols.

If Killer Bee were to show up in front of her right now, Sent-Bee would probably punch her halfway to the moon!

After ripping the miraculous from her stupid, ugly, two-tone hair, that is.

“–And I’m really glad Ivan and I have History together this year,” Multiplice was saying, clasping her hands in front of her. “Last year it really wasn’t my favorite subject, but Ivan has an amazing memory for dates – this year he still remembered the anniversary of the first day we ever kissed!”

Sent-Bee smirked. “Didn’t you remember it, too?”

Multiplice blushed. “I mean… of course _I_ do. But I didn’t think _he_ would, three years later.” She sighed, smiling happily.

Sent-Bee shook her head in amusement. “Why am I surrounded by such sappy romantics?” she wondered. Bee yipped happily, and she scratched behind the puppy’s ears.

Multiplice giggled. “Is the great Chloe Bourgeois _jealous_?”

Sent-Bee frowned, her eyes narrowed. “I can still buy you and sell you back to yourself a dozen times over, Haprèle!” Multiplice’s eyes widened nervously, and Sent-Bee snorted. “I’m just messing with you.”

Multiplice’s response was cut off by the grinding sound of screeching brakes.

Both heroes whipped around just in time to watch a sedan careen out of a side street, barely making the turn onto their street before veering onto the sidewalk straight at them. The horn blared. “Catch it!” Sent-Bee screamed, simultaneously diving off the sidewalk into the street and rolling to land on her side instead of on Bee. Behind her, Multiplice dove in the opposite direction while throwing out her jump rope to loop around the car. She didn’t throw it far enough, however, and only caught it around the front passenger’s side wheel, pulling the car off-course and straight into an apartment building’s wall. The sound of rending metal cut through the silence. “Shit!”

The car’s entire front end had crumpled down like an accordion, though the passenger compartment appeared to be intact. Sent-Bee was on her feet in moments, dropping Bee out the bottom of her carrying pouch and running over to the car. Multiplice was already there, staring at the damage with a horrified look in her eyes. She covered her mouth with her hands. “I–I–”

Sent-Bee grabbed the smaller girl by the shoulders and spun her around to face her, shaking roughly. “Hey, I need you to focus!” she shouted.

“I caused this!” Multiplice shrieked.

“Panicking isn’t going to fix it!” Sent-Bee retorted, emphasizing each word sharply. “I need you! _They_ need you! Now are you a mouse _hero_ , or just a _mouse_?” she demanded. Multiplice’s eyes focused in on Sent-Bee’s face. Sent-Bee patted her cheek. “That’s better. Now I need you to check on the occupants.” She watched Multiplice stumble over to the car, Bee-atrice padding along at her heels, and use Multitude before she finally acknowledged the voice that had been chirping at her through the communicator since the car first appeared. “Both of us are okay, Turing,” Sent-Bee reported briskly, “but we need emergency services at our location immediately.”

While the robot placed the call, Sent-Bee turned to survey the scene. The building that the car had slammed into appeared to still be stable, though it looked like the front of the car had crushed at least a few of the bricks to dust and plowed straight through the wall. Inside the car was a small family – two parents and a girl of no more than eight. The traffic on the street hadn’t been overly light before the accident, but a definite traffic jam was starting to form. “Stupid rubbernecking dimwits,” grumbled Sent-Bee, as Turing reported that he had gotten through to emergency services.

“Unfortunately, they report that they will not be here for at least ten minutes,” Turing announced. “They are dealing with several other incidents around the city as well at the moment.”

Sent-Bee groaned. “Fine. Patch me through.” The communicator beeped, and Sent-Bee immediately heard a woman’s voice.

“Unfortunately we just don’t have the resources to get someone there any sooner,” the dispatcher’s voice said apologetically.

“Excuse me?” demanded Sent-Bee. “You’re going to just let these people lie here when they could be injured – maybe even dying!?!”

“Who is this?”

She smirked on hearing the woman’s confusion. “You’re talking to Sent-Bee, one of the heroes on the scene. I assume you know who my _father_ is?”

“Um… yes, Mlle Bourgeois.” The dispatcher cleared her throat. “But as I was saying, the ambulance service is stretched thin just now because of a pileup on the highway.”

She scoffed and checked inside the car where Multiplice clones were scurrying up and down the victims, checking their vital signs. Two clones were standing on the mother’s shoulders on opposite sides, supporting her neck. “This family is seriously injured here and you’re not going to do anything? So are you telling me that in this _entire city_ we don’t have another ambulance, fire truck, police car? Hell, at this point I’ll take a _goddamn prison transport_!” Bee-atrice nuzzled up against Sent-Bee’s leg, and she bent over, idly rubbing the puppy’s head.

“The woman’s neck might be broken,” reported Multiplice over the communicator. “I can hold her neck steady for now, but I’m on a timer here. Only a little more than four minutes.”

“You hear that?” Sent-Bee demanded. The traffic situation was worsening, and she stepped off the sidewalk, withdrawing a flashlight from her belt. When Bee started to follow, she pointed back at the car, and Bee-atrice bounded over to stand guard next to the passenger-side door. “The clock is ticking! Now there are apartment buildings all up and down this block, so you’re going to locate whatever doctor or nurse or EMT or _veterinarian_ lives the closest, kick them out of bed, and get them over here to help us out! The two of us might be heroes, but there’s only so much we can do for broken bones and neck injuries!”

“Yes, right away, Mademoiselle!” The dispatcher coughed.

“I have found contact information for two nurses who live within three blocks of the accident!” Turing chirped excitedly.

“Um…” The dispatcher coughed again. “Let me put you on hold and make some phone calls.” The line cut off.

Sent-Bee waved her arms in the air to get the attention of a car that had almost come to a complete stop in the middle of the road directly in front of the accident scene. “Hey!” she shouted, shining her light through the car’s window into the driver’s face. “Move it, asshole! You’re blocking my street!” The driver gave her a startled look, the car’s tires screeched, and he accelerated down the street, nearly running into the car ahead of him before slamming on his brakes to slow down. “Oh, son of a bitch,” Sent-Bee cursed under her breath. Bee-atrice cocked her head. “Not you!” She waved her flashlight and beckoned the next car in line to start moving, and before too long traffic had picked up considerably. Satisfied, she moved down to the closest intersection, the one the car had turned down. Cars had begun to back up at that corner, so Sent-Bee waved her hands and stepped carefully into the intersection, using her flashlight to pause the traffic on the main street so the other street could go. She grimaced. “Make a note for Ladybug to add reflectors to our suits,” she instructed Turing over the communicator.

“Already done,” he responded immediately. “Emergency services has located a paramedic nearby, and they diverted an ambulance from the other accident after dispatching one from Saint-Denis.”

“All three victims are stable now,” Multiplice reported breathlessly. There was a rending sound of metal behind Sent-Bee, and she turned her head slightly to see a smaller-than-usual Multiplice holding a car door she had just ripped off its hinges. She helped the man and girl out, leading them to sit on the sidewalk beside Bee-atrice as a woman in a sweatshirt and sweatpants sprinted up holding a medical kit. Bee-atrice nuzzled up against the girl’s side, and the girl hugged the puppy tightly. “The driver’s legs are pinned, and I don’t think I can make enough room to get her out. Two clones are still holding her neck. Less than two minutes left.”

“Is the ambulance one which already has a Beam of Life?” asked Sent-Bee as the paramedic checked the girl for injuries.

A moment later Turing responded. “Affirmative.”

“Which road are they going to take to get here?” Sent-Bee stopped and glared at the car that had just slowed down next to the accident. “You! Move your ass already! It’s an accident; they happen! Now either _you_ keep driving or I’ll paralyze you, tie you to the roof with my yo-yo, _and move your car for you_!!” The car sped up. “Well?” she demanded impatiently.

“They will need to come down Jean Jaurès. The ambulance is less than a minute away.”

“Right.” Sent-Bee nodded, looked up and down the street, and waved her arms, stopping the traffic from the side street and directing the other traffic to go. She waved urgently, but the car crept forward. “Ugh!” she grumbled. “This is ridiculous.” Louder she shouted, “Move it! We need to clear this street!”

The front car on the side street honked. “I’m trying to get home!” the driver shouted out the window.

Sent-Bee turned her withering glare on the driver, one hand on her hip, and drew one of her synth-Venom guns. He quailed. “Are you actively dying?” she demanded icily, stalking up to the driver’s window. The driver shook his head mutely. “Unless your neck is broken, _you_ ’re not my priority! Now _sit still!!!!_ ”

Flashing lights in the distance lit up the night, and Sent-Bee breathed a sigh of relief as the traffic moved at a steady pace, opening up a path. Presently the ambulance drove past and stopped on the side of the street next to the crashed car. Sent-Bee continued directing the traffic, but slammed the visor down on her helmet when a brilliant white light shone from the direction of the accident. The full-size Multiplice finally joined Sent-Bee as a police car stopped almost in the middle of the intersection and an officer took over directing the traffic.

Sent-Bee let out a relieved breath and nodded to Multiplice, whose arms slumped in exhaustion. Sent-Bee turned for home. “That’s enough excitement for one patrol.” As the two heroes jogged away from the accident scene, Sent-Bee pondered. “Turing? Send that dispatcher flowers in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Beam of Life is a cutting tool designed by Bri (Iron Maiden) and modeled off of her bracelets’ wrist-mounted energy pistol. She and Max scaled it back into a search-and-rescue device which the Heroes of Paris are selling to police, fire, and rescue services on her behalf. This is the first time it’s been used in the field.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupa Gris (Julia) and Taureau Dechaine (Ivan) make an unexpected discovery

Julia didn’t mind going out on patrol for the Heroes of Paris. She had come to Paris with Marinette and Adrien back in the spring to help them track down the Dinosaur and Bear Miraculous which had been stolen by the villain they called “Lynchpin.” By the time she had arrived, it had turned out that this Lynchpin had an additional two miraculous under his control. Under the circumstances, it was only right for her to help them track down these evil miraculous users by using her ability to sense active miraculous. And what better way to do that than by running around the city with them on patrols?

Unfortunately, it was a little easier said than done. While she had encountered several of Lynchpin’s miraculous users and could pick them out when their miraculous was active, she still hadn’t gotten a sense for the Bee Miraculous yet. And locating them when they were transformed only did so much good. But despite her repeated forays around Paris with Marco, she still hadn’t met any of the miraculous villains untransformed. Although she longed to return to Peru now that Pablo had called off _his_ mission, leaving now would feel too much like giving up.

So yet again she tucked Marco in his bed, read him a bedtime story, kissed him goodnight, and left with Mettli. “Do you think we’ll find anything tonight?” she asked the Kwami, leaning against the wall of an apartment building a quarter-mile from the Mansion.

Mettli shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m not sure which is worse: fighting Rexx or _not_ fighting Ursaa.”

Julia nodded, her mouth set in a firm line. “I wish we could put our pack back together, too. I promise we’ll find them.”

“I know you’ll do your best.” Mettli patted her cheek.

She sighed. “Mettli, Call the pack.”

A couple minutes later, Lupa Gris arrived at the meeting spot along the Seine just as Taureau Dechaine jogged into view. “Bonsoir!” she called, grinning easily. “And how are you this evening?”

“Not too bad,” he replied. “Somehow Multiplice and I managed to actually get our homework _done_ on our ‘study date’ this afternoon, so I’m actually ready for school tomorrow.”

Lupa Gris chuckled. “I suppose that’s a good thing, considering how late these patrols can go!” She led the way down the quay before veering off into a residential area bordered by tall apartment buildings. She sighed wistfully. “I remember one time just after Pablo and I started dating when we had a languages test coming up and wanted to have one of those ‘study dates’… There was far more ‘dating’ than ‘studying’ involved. But I was okay with failing that particular test!”

Taureau Dechaine was quiet for a minute as they ran side-by-side. “How do you do it?” he finally asked. “Balancing both being heroes with having a family, I mean.”

Lupa Gris frowned. “I don’t know that we really have it all figured out,” she admitted slowly. “Sometimes a problem arises and we have to handle it immediately, ignoring the plans we had already made. Sometimes we miss things and Marco grows up a little more while we’re not there. There are days I feel pulled in all directions by my responsibilities in Peru, helping your group, trying to be a mother… Being away from my husband for so long when we were both on assignments wasn’t easy – nor was it easy on him to be away from both of us.” She shrugged. “Ultimately you do the best you can and rely on the support you have – Lise has been a huge help with that; I don’t know if I could have managed for so long without her.”

Taureau Dechaine hummed pensively.

She stared at him suspiciously. “Are you and Multiplice–?”

“Oh, no,” he insisted, flushing. “I mean–not right now, at least.” He sighed. “But I know she wants to have children some day. And what kind of life is this for raising a child?” Lupa Gris raised an eyebrow. “Um… no offense.”

She laughed as they crossed another street and jogged past a _maternelle_. “My parents raised five children while both working fulltime,” she told him. “There were many days before the Guardian recruited me when I was responsible for feeding my siblings because my parents would be home late. It wasn’t easy for them, but we turned out alright. And while it isn’t easy for Pablo and me, I _can_ tell you that the challenge is worth it. We wouldn’t trade what we have for the world.”

“I suppose–”

Lupa Gris held up a hand to cut him off, cocking her head to the side. She turned around once, closing her eyes and focusing in on the sounds she was hearing. There. Her eyes shot open and she darted back across the street toward the _maternelle_. There was a small park next to the school with a few pieces of equipment and a couple benches. She made a beeline straight to the farthest bench and skidded to a stop less than a meter away. The soft sobbing that had drawn her attention stilled suddenly. “It’s okay, _niña_ ,” she cooed.

The child had her knees drawn up to her chest, a thin trail of mucus trailing down from her nose to stick to the knee of her pants. She looked no more than three or four years old, with a light blue barrette in her short black hair. She stared up at Lupa Gris, her eyes wide in fear.

Lupa Gris lay down on the sidewalk and looked up at the girl, smiling calmly. “Hi! I’m Lupa Gris! Are you lost?” The girl nodded mutely, her lower lip quivering. She shivered and squeezed her knees even tighter. “You look cold,” Lupa Gris observed, holding a hand out to the girl. “If you come out, we can get you home and warmed up.”

The girl sniffed but made no move to leave her spot under the bench.

Lupa Gris removed her war club from its place on her back and set it on the ground between them. “Have you ever seen one of these before?” she asked. The girl shook her head. “My son’s about your age, and he just _loves_ playing with it. If you can come out, I’ll let you hold it.”

The girl slowly crawled out from under the bench and picked up the war club. Lupa Gris shifted to sit cross-legged on the sidewalk, and the girl sat down in her lap, hugging the war club to her chest. “There we go sweetie,” Lupa Gris whispered soothingly. Heavy pounding footsteps from behind them had the girl twisting around to see who was coming. She gasped on catching sight of Taureau Dechaine. “No, no, it’s okay,” Lupa Gris assured her. She leaned closer and whispered, “He’s really just a big teddy bear!” The girl giggled.

A new voice interjected itself over their communicators. “What can you find out about this girl?” asked Turing.

Lupa Gris turned to the girl. “So where do you live, _niña_?”

The girl shrugged and burrowed into Lupa Gris’ lap. “I–I don’t know.”

“Tell me about your _maman_ and _papa_.”

“ _P–papa_ works in a big office, but he really doesn’t like it,” she confided. “ _Maman_ doesn’t work; she stays at home with me.” There was a click as Taureau Dechaine took a picture of the girl. “ _Maman_ and me came to the park after lunch today. _Maman_ talked to Claude’s _maman_ , and I played with Claude and Renée and Martine and–”

“And where did _maman_ go?” asked Lupa Gris, interrupting her gently.

“I–I don’t know,” sobbed the girl, rubbing her eyes. “I heard her calling, but we were playing hide-and-seek and I didn’t want to lose! But then she was gone!”

“I may have something,” Turing reported. “There is a report of a missing child fitting her description, and it includes a name.”

Lupa Gris listened quietly and wiped away the girl’s tears with one finger. “Sweetie,” she asked, “is your name Isabelle?”

The girl nodded, wide-eyed in surprise.

“Okay, Isabelle,” Lupa Gris told her, standing up and picking Isabelle up carefully. “Do you want to go home and see your _maman_?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Isabelle Bonnaire lives just one block north of your location,” Turing told them.

“Let’s get you home.” Lupa Gris shifted the girl’s weight on her hips, but she started to squirm.

“I want him to carry me,” she announced, pointing at Taureau Dechaine.

Taureau Dechaine started, but broke out in a wide smile. “I think we can arrange that,” he told her as Lupa Gris passed the girl over. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and hugged him tightly, Lupa Gris’ war club still clutched in her hand.

“I think you have a fan,” Lupa Gris observed to him as they slowly turned up the street to the north toward the girl’s apartment building.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viperion and Multiplice have an unexpected meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike the other “Patrol Logs” before now, this one didn’t actually come from a random number generated prompt. This takes place after [“Guys’ Day Out,”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27894199/chapters/68304304) in which Luka and Ivan learned each other’s identities.

Viperion arrived at the meeting place a little early for patrol and sat down on the steps of the Trocadéro, plucking his lyre quietly. The night was still, warm for late fall but with a hint of the coming winter on the air. He frowned in contemplation and shifted his fingers on the instrument. This particular run had been giving him fits for a week, and he had hoped the miraculous lyre might give him a better idea of how to translate what he heard in his mind into something he could hear with his ears.

“That sounds pretty,” Multiplice observed, appearing in front of him. “A new song?”

“It’s one I’ve been working on for a couple weeks,” he acknowledged. “It’s not quite ready yet, though. Maybe tonight will be the inspiration I need to finish it!”

“If that’s the case, I can’t wait to hear it this weekend!” Multiplice grinned cheekily.

Viperion returned her smile. “I take it Ivan told you, then?”

She nodded. “Of course. We don’t really have secrets.”

“A good policy,” he agreed. “I don’t think I _could_ keep something like that from Kagami – at least not now.” He affixed the lyre to its spot on his back and stood up, stretching his arms and shoulders as he did so. “Shall we?”

“Ready when you are!” she chirped excitedly.

Viperion led the way north from the park, starting a wide circuit around the outer ring of the city. Multiplice kept pace with him easily as they raced across rooftops.

“I still can’t believe we were all heroes together all this time and I didn’t realize it!” Multiplice giggled. “I mean, I thought it was possible, of course – there are only so many people Marinette and Adrien would trust with a miraculous – but still!”

Viperion smiled to himself as he sidestepped a TV antenna and ran across the telephone line connecting two buildings. He couldn’t exactly argue with her, knowing them as he did. Of course they would trust their friends above anyone else to fight alongside them, first against Hawk Moth and then against all the other villains that kept appearing in Paris and beyond. And that meant the odds of knowing all the miraculous users were somewhat higher than you would expect otherwise.

They had just crossed into the ninth arrondissement when Viperion’s eye was drawn to a bright orange glow several blocks west of them.

“What is that?” Multiplice asked, pointing in the same direction.

Viperion furrowed his brows suspiciously. “Not sure, but we’d better check it out.” With Multiplice following close behind him, he turned in that direction and put on a burst of speed, covering the distance in a matter of moments. As they approached he could see smoke rising from the glow, shadows dancing in the light. His eyes widened. “Fire!” A moment later they were on the roof of the closest apartment building, staring down at the flickering flames coming from a three-story building. Two windows had shattered under the heat, flames and smoke billowing from that apartment. A small crowd had gathered in the street just outside, where a trio of fire trucks had stopped and the firefighters had begun laying down hoses.

The two heroes dropped off the building’s roof and ran up to the captain. “What can we do, sir?” asked Viperion briskly.

“We’re starting with containment,” the captain explained quickly, pointing to the buildings on either side. “These old buildings could all go up at once if we’re not careful! I put in the request already for another company to respond, but they’re not here yet. I have men knocking on doors to clear them out just in case. Another group went in to search this one, but it’s slow going.”

“Right.” Viperion twisted his miraculous. “Second Chance!”

Viperion raced straight into the building, past a pair of firefighters working to break down the door of a ground-floor apartment. He ran headlong into the next door down, taking it off its hinges, only to find it empty. The next apartment was the same. In the final apartment on that floor he found two small children hiding in their closet. Leaving them for the moment, he climbed up the side of the building and smashed the window of the apartment directly above theirs. A torrent of flame poured out as oxygen reached the fire. Surprised, Viperion lost his grip on the windowsill and fell backward, resetting his Second Chance before he hit the ground.

On his second and third run-throughs, Viperion grabbed a facemask off the truck and searched the remaining floors of the apartment building and found two families on the second floor and another three trapped behind the fire on the third floor. Only when he had satisfied himself that no one else was hiding in the building did he reset the timer for the last time.

“Captain, have your men search the second floor,” he instructed. The captain gave him a confused look. “You will find people in the two back apartments on the second floor, and two children in the last bedroom on the right on the first floor, hiding in the closet.”

“But–”

“Do it now!” Viperion ordered, fire in his eyes. Without waiting for a response he grabbed the fire axe from behind the driver’s seat in the fire truck and turned to Multiplice. “You’re with me.”

Multiplice jogged over to the building after him, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t worry: we’re professionals at this!”

Viperion took her jump rope, looped it around the windowsill of the center apartment on the top floor. Tugging it to make sure it was secure, he shimmied up, Multiplice following behind him, and used the axe to shatter the bedroom window. He crawled through, pushing the broken glass aside, and reached down to pull Multiplice in after him. “There are people in the living room of this apartment, and also in the two closest apartments.” He hefted the axe and took a swing at the bedroom wall. “Get the people in this apartment and the one across the hall. I’ll handle the other apartment.”

Multiplice nodded and disappeared out the bedroom door while Viperion hacked through the wall, cutting out chunks of drywall to make a small opening before finally using his hands to pry it apart wide enough to fit through. He looked through the opening to find a small family of three staring back at him. “Right, everyone through the wall!” he ordered, waving them toward him. The husband handed their one-year-old to Viperion before helping his wife through and following himself. Viperion made a loop in the end of the jump rope, wrapped it around the wife, and lowered her and the child to the ground before doing the same with the husband. By then Multiplice had gathered the rest of the people on that floor, and the two heroes make quick work of lowering them to safety before they jumped to the ground themselves.

When they arrived back in front of the building the captain gave Viperion an evaluating look but nodded in appreciation. “Thanks,” the captain told him. “The fire is starting to put off embers and we need to spray down the rest of the block just in case. I called in air support, but it won’t be here for a while.”

“I don’t know that the two of us can help with that specifically,” Viperion answered, frowning. Around them firefighters ran to get into position. He stepped back from the fire trucks, closer to the crowd, to stay out of the firefighters’ way.

“Isn’t fire simply magical?” a voice in the crowd whispered, so soft Viperion didn’t think anyone else could have heard it. “So purifying. So cleansing.”

Viperion turned to scan the crowd, but everyone he saw appeared focused on the building. Something about the tone of that voice had sent shivers down Viperion’s spine, but he could not place it. But there was something dissonant in the tune.

“What are we going to do?” Multiplice asked, pulling his attention back to the present.

He shook his head, troubled. “I–I don’t know. I–” Lightning flashed across the sky, followed instantly by a crack of thunder. Viperion smirked and looked up. “I think help just arrived.”

Above the fire the lightning merged together and formed into Ryoku. As she started to fall from the sky, she drew her sword, twirled it around below her, and shouted, “Wind Dragon!” A gust of wind blew upward away from the fire, catching her and holding her aloft.

Viperion turned and ran down the street, shouting to the fire captain. “Open every fire hydrant on the block! Right now!” He kicked the top off the closest fire hydrant. Water gushed out in a geyser, but he didn’t stop, racing down the street to the next one. The next hydrant burst open, and the street began to flood with water.

The fire captain stared at him in confusion. “What–?”

“Either _you_ do it or _she_ ’ll do it _for_ you!” Viperion yelled as the firefighters rushed to open water mains on all sides.

Above his head Ryoku called, “Water Dragon!” The water pooling around Viperion’s feet grew deeper, lapping at his calves, as he opened a third fire hydrant. He turned around just in time to watch all the water on the street collect together into a single massive tidal wave which Ryoku sent crashing down over the fire. Steam hissed as the water flash-evaporated, and she drew it back together into a cloud which poured rain down on the entire block. Although the fire continued to burn, the flames diminished substantially.

“No!” a voice shouted from somewhere closer to the fire. “The fire must continue! The Fire-Fly will not stand for this!”

Viperion turned just in time to see a woman in the middle of the crowd extend her arms, deploying a wing suit. A small jet on her back spat flames, and she took off into the air, aiming directly at Ryoku. A second burst of flame came from a tube she held in her hands, and Ryoku dropped ten meters in the air to avoid getting burned. The wind around her picked up, shooting her toward Fire-Fly. She raised her sword with a cry, spun to avoid a burst of flame, and slashed at Firefly’s wing suit. Firefly shot her flamethrower downward to pick up speed and narrowly escaped Ryoku’s attack. The apartment building flames grew higher.

Eyes wide, Viperion ran back to the fire, where Multiplice was staring up in shock. “Did you see when that Fire-Fly arrived?” Viperion asked her.

Multipice shook her head. “I–I think she was here the whole time!” She wrung her hands as the aerial battle continued while Ryoku fought to gain space to summon another wave of water to fully douse the fire. “She’ll be okay, right? I mean, did _you_ know she could fly like that?”

Viperion shook his head. “She can’t fight the Fire-Fly _and_ the fire at the same time, though!” His eyes widened as a burst of flame from Fire-Fly’s flamethrower singed the tips of Ryoku’s hair. “How do we help her?”

“ _We_ don’t help her,” Multiplice replied firmly. “ _I_ help her. Multitude!” In a flash of pink Multiplice disappeared to be replaced with a small number of miniature clones. The clones crawled up Viperion’s legs to his shoulders and arms.

“How are you going to get up there?” Viperion demanded, not taking his eyes off of Ryoku and Fire-Fly.

Multiplice giggled. “Time to put your lyre to use: how’s your aim?”

Viperion nodded and set his jaw. Pulling the lyre from its place on his back he held it up. One of the Multiplice clones crawled down his arm and lay across the lyre strings. “You’re sure this won’t hurt you if I miss?”

“Positive,” she assured him. “It’s physics.”

“If you’re sure…” Viperion drew the string back as far as he could and released, sending the clone shooting into the sky on a ballistic trajectory. Before the string had even stopped sounding, a second clone had replaced the first. Viperion kept firing until only a single Multiplice clone remained on his shoulder.

“About half of them missed,” the remaining clone reported, whispering into his ear. “They landed just fine, though. The rest are all over this.”

Ryoku suddenly swung her sword, and Viperion almost missed the trio of darker specks that flew off the sword tip and latched onto Fire-Fly’s flamethrower. Ryoku dropped away from Fire-Fly into a controlled dive, caught another gust of air, and twirled her sword around. The water pooling on the street rushed into the burning building, extinguishing the remaining flames and submerging the bottom floor under a meter of water. Fire-Fly’s jetpack sputtered and went out. The wind whistling upward around them suddenly stopped. Ryoku looked down and caught Viperion’s eye for a moment, smiled, and closed her eyes, holding her arms out. Then she fell.

Viperion’s heart stopped. He raced forward, leaping over the crowd of bystanders, the Multiplice clone hanging onto his hair to keep from falling off. “Come on, come on…” Viperion muttered, not taking his eyes off the falling form. She was almost level with the buildings’ roofs, and he was still two buildings away. Twenty meters from the ground. Ten meters… Viperion put on a burst of speed, timed his jump, and leapt to catch her in his arms. Ryoku wrapped her arms around his neck, and his heart finally started beating again. “Don’t scare me like that!” he chastised her, hugging her tightly to himself. “What if I hadn’t been in time?”

“I knew you’d catch me,” Ryoku whispered, leaning into his chest without opening her eyes. “I know you’ll always catch me.”

 _Well, that makes_ one _of us…_ he thought. “Still, a head’s up would have been appreciated.”

The Multiplice clone giggled. “The two of you are just too cute!” She jumped off of Viperion’s shoulder and merged in with the small crowd of other clones on the ground in front of them, returning to her normal size. Looping her jump rope around a streetlamp she tugged to make sure it was secure. “I’ll check back on the fire and report in to let Turing know what happened if you want to get her home.”

“Thanks, Mylène,” Ryoku whispered, snuggling into Viperion’s arms.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sent-Bee has only been back from Somalia for a day, but she's already off on patrol with Cat Noir. After dinner with Marinette's family, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter of [“Fear Itself”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261374/chapters/70070955) ends with Chloe and Adrien going on patrol together, so it seemed silly to not have that as the “Patrol Log” coming out the same day!

Chloe flinched when she felt tiny teeth tugging on her leg. She ducked under the table and shook her finger. “Not now, Bee,” she hissed. The puppy licked her finger and yipped happily.

“Sorry, Chloe,” Tikki apologized, fluttering back with Bee’s ball. The puppy wagged her tail excitedly, tongue hanging out, and dropped her head to the ground, watching the ball with big eyes. Tikki rolled the ball away, and Bee-atrice chased after it. Plagg batted the ball into the living room, with Bee-atrice in hot pursuit.

“Everything okay down there, Chlo?”

Chloe straightened up to find four pairs of eyes staring at her. She shrugged dismissively. “Everything’s fine,” she replied. She smirked. “Though your ‘puppy-sitters’ don’t seem to be keeping Bee occupied as well as they thought they would!”

Marinette giggled into her hand. “She _is_ a little larger than them, you know,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow. She jerked her head toward the living room, where Bee-atrice was lying on the floor, Plagg’s head partway into her mouth. Plagg narrowed his eyes at the puppy and hissed, while a couple meters away Tikki laughed.

“Excuses, excuses,” Chloe retorted with a smirk.

“You’re just disappointed they can’t _whisker_ out from under your feet!” Adrien joked, laughing.

“Now, now, son,” Tom chided. “Just wait until you have kids of your own _dogging_ you all day!”

“I wouldn’t mind having a little one _tailing_ me,” replied Adrien, smiling. “–Not right away, of course!” he quickly added with a nervous look at Tom and Sabine.

“Do you see what I have to put up with?” Marinette complained to Chloe, shaking her head.

Chloe scoffed. “As if this isn’t _exactly_ what you were hoping for last summer!” Marinette opened her mouth to protest, and Chloe arched an eyebrow at her.

“… I’m not answering that.”

Chloe turned to Sabine and gave her a small smile. “Thank you for the invitation,” she began. “I…”

Sabine placed a hand on her arm. “I understand, dear,” she assured her. “We enjoyed having you stay with us last summer, too.” She raised an eyebrow at Marinette. “Especially once we realized _why_ you were staying with us that month!”

Chloe stifled a snort as Marinette shot her mother an annoyed look. “I kept a secret: so sue me.”

Adrien glanced up at the clock before giving Chloe a disappointed look. “As much as I hate to do it… it _is_ about time for us to be leaving.”

Chloe nodded and glanced over into the living room where she’d left her Sent-Bee bag. Bee-atrice was in the process of playing tug-of-war with Plagg, swinging the Kwami around at the end of a rope. She pushed back from the table and walked over to grab her bag. “I should get changed.” This had been a thousand times easier with her miraculous…

“I’ll send some pastries with you,” Sabine promised as Chloe walked down to the guest room which had been hers for a month before it had been Adrien’s for almost a year. Now it was back to just a guest room, though Sabine and Tom had told her back in the spring that she had a standing invitation to stay with them if she ever wanted to – she hadn’t taken them up on it yet, but her mother would be in town next month, so…

Fifteen minutes later, Sent-Bee and Cat Noir stood on the balcony, ready to leave for their patrol. Sent-Bee turned away as Cat Noir wrapped his arms around Marinette and swept her up into a deep kiss, his fingers combing through her hair. Last year, it had taken almost a month before Chloe could hide her jealousy at watching their PDA. But that was last year, before Marinette had become one of her closest friends. The last time she had actually felt any hint of jealously toward them was some time last year; now she could admit that she was simply happy that Marinette was going to marry her almost-brother.

Not that she would ever admit it to _them_ , of course…

“I’ll miss you,” Marinette whispered against Cat Noir’s lips.

“I _can_ come back here when we get done,” he murmured back. “But you need your rest for school tomorrow.”

Marinette hummed in acknowledgement.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning,” he told her. “That’s a _purr_ omise!”

Sent-Bee rolled her eyes and lowered the visor on her helmet. From her pouch on Sent-Bee’s chest, Bee yipped happily. She shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably to make the rig on her back sit better: this was going to take some getting used to. Finally, Cat Noir put a hand on her shoulder and said, “We’d better get going.”

“Ready whenever you are, _Adrikins_ ,” she replied, smirking, as Cat Noir extended his baton to the next building’s roof and ran across it, Sent-Bee close behind him. The moment she was off the baton he retracted it and secured it to his belt. She followed him across the roof, accelerated, and jumped across to the next one. “Saccharine.” Cat Noir gave her a confused look as they continued along the rooftops. “You and Mar: saccharine.”

He chuckled. “What can I say?” He threw his arms out wide and shouted, “I’m in love!”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure there are alien races out there who’ve never heard of humanity but can tell you’re in love!” she observed as they jogged across a few more roofs, the remains of the _Nuit Blanche_ spread out below them.

“Is that a bad thing?”

She shook her head. “Not really,” she admitted. “I’m glad you have her. And your mom back. And all of it. Just–”

He nodded. “You’re always going to be my sister,” he assured her, sweeping her up with an arm around her waist and riding his staff down to the street. “That’s not changing.”

“You know I could have done that myself, right?” She raised an eyebrow, though without any force behind it.

“I know,” he agreed, nodding. Suddenly he froze, his eyes narrowed in confusion. A gust of wind picked up around them, and Sent-Bee almost fell over. The crowd of civilians around them scattered. “What the actual hell?” she demanded. “Tyran-X?”

Cat Noir stabbed his staff into the sidewalk and held up a hand to shield his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

A whirring noise came from the darkly-shadowed alley to their side. Sent-Bee looked over and started on seeing a short, slender woman with an unusual contraption consisting of three different fans on her back. “Feel the power of the Mistral!” the woman declared, tilting a second fan to point at them.

Sent-Bee’s feet finally flew out from under her and she was blown up into the air. The woman – Mistral? – shot into the air after her, propelled by the force of two of her fans. As the ground grew further and further away, Sent-Bee forced herself to breathe slowly before hitting the new control on her glove. Her jetpack activated automatically, giving her some control over her ascent. Bee whined pitifully, quivering against Sent-Bee’s chest.

Mistral hurtled higher into the air before turning her third fan against Sent-Bee. Sent-Bee deactivated her jetpack, dropped out of Mistral’s range, and reactivated the jetpack, shooting herself forward at Mistral from below. “Not so fast!” Mistral shouted, aiming her fan at Sent-Bee and blowing her off-course. Sent-Bee nearly flew into a building but caught herself with her feet against the building’s façade, grabbing onto the apartment building’s balcony above her head. From her compartment on Sent-Bee’s chest, Bee-atrice barked agitatedly.

“You’ll find I’m not so easy to fight,” Sent-Bee commented, pushing herself off and into the air, aiming to fly higher than Mistral. She drew one of her synth-Venom guns and aimed it carefully at Mistral’s head but frowned. If Mistral could somehow blow the synth-Venom stream away from herself, it could fly back and hit Sent-Bee, and then she’d be in trouble. It was too much of a risk. She returned the gun to its holster and instead drew her yo-yo. Across from her, on the opposite side of Mistral, Cat Noir stood on an apartment building roof with his staff out. Sent-Bee nodded slowly. She threw her yo-yo at Mistral, who dropped two meters to avoid the yo-yo. Sent-Bee retracted it again and threw it to loop around Mistral’s chest. Mistral flew to the side, and the yo-yo’s momentum carried it through one of Mistral’s fans.

The fan froze in place for a moment before the fan powered through the obstruction, sliced through the yo-yo string, and continued spinning. Mistral spun around out of control but righted herself before she could lose too much altitude. Sent-Bee groaned in frustration. However, taking advantage of the distraction, Cat Noir suddenly extended his baton straight through Mistral’s other fan, which immediately cut out and froze. Before she could react, Mistral dropped from the air, and Cat Noir dove after her, catching her meters from the ground.

“Now stay,” Cat Noir told her, placing her on the ground and yanking out one of the control wires to Mistral’s fan suit. The woman stared up at him sullenly but held out her hands and sat down on the curb.

“So what are you going to tell your girl about this?” Sent-Bee asked, landing next to Cat Noir and hitting the control on her helmet to call the Superhero Liaison Department’s overnight dispatcher.

Cat Noir shrugged. “ _Purr_ -haps that even after this, she’s _still_ the only woman who can truly blow me away!”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Monkey (Kim) and Amun-Vatar (Jalil) have a chance to bond... in the way only King Monkey can do it!

“What do you think your chances are in basketball this season, son?”

Kim scoffed and helped himself to another spoonful of mashed potatoes. “Championship season all the way!” he replied with a grin. “We almost got there _last_ year, so there’s no way we miss it _this_ time!”

Ondine’s father gave him an appraising look. “You know, I think you can do it,” he agreed, nodding. “One last chance and all that.”

Kim nodded ruefully. Unfortunately, their lycée team had missed the championship by seconds last year, and the year before they hadn’t made it out of the quarterfinal round. If Kim was actually going to win, it would have to be this year. “Most of last year’s team is back this year, at least,” he observed. “There’s no way we miss out again!”

Ondine beamed across the table at him. “I can’t wait for the season to start! I’ll be in the stands for every game!”

Kim felt his ears starting to burn. “I’d like that,” he told her nervously. Her smile turned mischievous.

Ondine’s mother stood up from the table and started collecting the dishes. “I hope you saved room for dessert! I made crème brulee!”

Kim grinned, and Ondine quickly interjected, “As if you would ever _miss_ dessert!”

He opened his mouth to respond, but felt a bite on his stomach, right under where Xuppu was hidden in his pocket, and yelped in surprise. Ondine gave him a concerned look, and Kim quickly said, “Sorry, I, um, hit my toe on the table leg.” He looked at his watch and groaned internally. “I hate to run off,” he apologized, standing up, “especially before dessert, but I have a thing to finish up for school in the morning.”

Ondine frowned, a disappointed look in her eyes, but shrugged, letting out a sad sigh. “I’ll walk you out,” she told him, shoulders slumping in resignation.

He took her hand as they walked down the hallway to the apartment door, then down the stairs to the building’s front door. “I wish you could stay longer,” she told him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “This is the fourth time in a row you’ve had to leave so soon.”

He nodded regretfully. It seemed like every time she had invited him over for dinner with her family since her father returned from his deployment, he was already scheduled for patrol. “I wish I could stay longer, too,” he agreed, pulling her into a tight hug.

She squeezed him back and let go. “Goodnight,” she whispered softly, a troubled look in her eyes.

“Goodnight. I’ll meet you in the morning to walk to school.” As the door closed between them, Kim’s mouth turned down in a frown and he glared down in the general vicinity of his Kwami. “This is getting seriously frustrating, you know,” he observed, sticking his hands in his pockets and walking briskly down the street in the direction of the Seine. “Her mom makes an amazing crème brulee…”

“Eh,” the Kwami poked his head out of Kim’s sweatshirt and shrugged. “Maybe you can stop for ‘dessert’ after patrol.”

“Maybe.” Kim let out a heavy breath. “One of these days Ondine is going to figure me out.”

“So do you trust her?” Xuppu asked, giving Kim a curious look.

“Yes,” replied Kim firmly. “But it’s not a matter of trust. I don’t want to worry her, especially when her dad _just_ got back.”

Xuppu hummed, his lips curling in an amused smirk. “I’m not going to complain: watching you try to keep this secret is enough fun on its own! I don’t think I’ve had so much fun since Sun Wukong!”

Kim rolled his eyes. “Because I _live_ for your entertainment,” he muttered. The Kwami simply grinned. Kim raised an eyebrow mischievously. “But I do know of at least _one_ way I can shut you up: Xuppu, Show time!”

A couple minutes later, King Monkey was racing across the rooftops when he spotted a figure with a golden face and wearing a trench coat, hovering in the center of a column of air. He angled in that direction and soon found himself standing on the roof of an exchange building, directly underneath Amun-Vatar. “Hey!” he called. “Mind coming down here, bro?”

Amun-Vatar descended until he hovered a few centimeters above the roof, at which point the wind column disappeared in a swirl, blowing King Monkey’s hair in all directions, as he stepped down onto the roof. “Good evening, King Monkey,” he greeted him. “Shall we?”

“Sounds good to me,” King Monkey agreed. _I left a date to hang out with the_ less _-fun Kubdel sibling…_ he thought in some annoyance. But that was the life of a superhero, right? He sighed. It’s not that he _dis_ liked Jalil; he liked him fine. But he so much preferred Alix.

Amun-Vatar jogged along behind King Monkey until they reached the end of the roof, at which point the column of air reformed beneath him, propelling him up into the sky to hover behind and a little above King Monkey’s shoulder.

King Monkey followed the river east, crossed over at the edge of the city’s limits, and ran around the south boundary of Paris until they curved back around to meet the Seine, Amun-Vatar a quiet presence behind him. Finally they oassed along the southern bank of the river until they reached the Eiffel Tower, where King Monkey stopped to lean against one of the tower’s legs and rest. “Quiet night,” he observed.

“Do you have a lot of those?” asked Amun-Vatar tilting his head curiously and alighting on the ground next to him.

“Every so often,” King Monkey told him with a nod. “The bad guys aren’t out _all_ the time; I’m pretty sure I intimidate them!” He flexed his arms with a grin.

Amun-Vatar watched him impassively. “So what do you do in that case?”

King Monkey shrugged. “Sometimes we spar, sometimes we just head home a little early.” He cocked his head and frowned. This _was_ something of an opportunity… “So what all _can_ you do, bro?”

Amun-Vatar drew a glowing figure in the air in front of himself and pushed, sending the figure zipping around the Tower. With a gesture it flew up into the air, high above their heads, and exploded in a shower of light. He cupped his hand and a ball of pure white light appeared, which he threw up above them, where it hovered in place, lighting up the park around them as though it were midday.

King Monkey raised an eyebrow. “Not bad – for a light show, at least,” he allowed. “But how about fighting?”

“That first construct could cut straight through practically anything,” Amun-Vatar pointed out, frowning. “And I can shield myself from almost any attack. I think I’m good.”

King Monkey snorted. “Do you know what my power is?” he asked. “I disrupt powers – that’s how I beat the Dhole, and that’s how I stopped the Popobawa. I’m not sure if that would take away your magic, but it could. And if that happened? What would you do then?”

“I–huh.” Amun-Vatar fixed him with an unreadable look. “I don’t know.”

“So again, how are you at fighting without your magic?”

Amun-Vatar let out a nervous chuckle and winced. “Not good enough?”

King Monkey tossed his staff aside; it rolled away and stopped against the Eiffel Tower’s leg. Dropping into a fighting stance he raised his fists, eyeing Amun-Vatar carefully. Suddenly he struck, an open-handed chop to Amun-Vatar’s arm. Amun-Vatar stumbled backward, and King Monkey took another step forward before aiming a kick at his chest. Amun-Vatar’s eyes widened and the gold flickered away momentarily before returning as he sidestepped away from the kick. King Monkey drove his elbow into Amun-Vatar’s side, eliciting a gasp from him. He fell to the ground on his back, his elbow cracking against the pavement.

“Uncle, uncle,” gasped Amun-Vatar, holding a hand up.

“Are you saying you’re a monkey’s uncle?” King Monkey asked, grinning. “Because that would make you _my_ uncle, and _that_ would not be cool!” He grabbed Amun-Vatar’s hand and pulled him up to his feet before he straightened up and twisted over to stretch the muscles along his side. “First lesson: defense.” He spread his legs and bent his knees, holding his fists up close to his head, elbows in. “You want to keep your hands up and maintain your center of balance,” he instructed. “If someone tries to hit you in the chest or side, use your arms to block so your fists are still up to counterattack.” He demonstrated and watched Amun-Vatar slowly copy the movement. With a judicious nod he turned to face him. “Right, let’s see how you do if I go slowly…”

King Monkey aimed a chop at Amun-Vatar’s side, and he dropped his elbow close to block it before awkwardly punching King Monkey in the head with his opposite hand. King Monkey bobbed to the side to avoid the punch, and Amun-Vatar stumbled off-balance. King Monkey backhanded him in the side. “Next lesson: keep your balance!”

Amun-Vatar grunted in annoyance as they resumed. It was close to an hour later when Amun-Vatar dropped to the ground and leaned back against the Eiffel Tower, gasping for breath, wiping perspiration from his brow. “I don’t think I can keep going,” he groaned.

King Monkey nodded, rolling his shoulders. “We can call it quits for now.” He smirked. “But let me know when you’re ready for round two!”

“I’ll be sure _not_ to do that…” grumbled Amun-Vatar drily.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Outsiders of the group - Pedro (the Heretic) and Victor (the alien) - are on patrol together

After a quiet dinner at the Mansion, Pedro and Victor left together for their patrol. It had just been the two of them at dinner tonight – Lise and Marco were watching a movie, Pablo had come into town to take Julia out to dinner and a movie, Adrien and Marinette were at her house, Emilie and Fu had both gone to Tibet for a meeting with some of the Guardians from the other temples… The list went on. For being filled to bursting with people most of the time, the place could be awfully quiet when no one else was around. _But_ , Pedro mused with a glance at his companion, _that seems to be the standard for us._

Victor, who was projecting the image of a young man with brilliant red hair at the moment as they walked down the Mansion’s driveway and out through the front gates, tilted his head to one side, looking at Pedro curiously. “Care to share?” he asked.

“I suppose you and I are in much the same boat,” Pedro explained, surreptitiously checking the road behind them. Aside from a couple cars and a man out jogging, the two heroes were alone. Three blocks back, the Mansion disappeared from view as they turned the corner to walk down the main street that led toward the city center.

Victor dropped the illusion and gave him a curious look. “What do you mean?”

“I was on the outside, too, when I first got here,” Pedro told him. “Those Dark Acolytes we’ve been fighting? That was me when I first met Ladybug, Cat Noir, and the others. I attacked Ladybug and tried to ‘reclaim’ her miraculous from a ‘miraculous abuser.’ Not exactly the best foundation for a friendship… It took them a while to actually trust me; even when they really started to trust me I still felt this distance: ‘a part but apart.’ That seems to be you, too. At least at the moment.”

Victor nodded slowly. “That is a good way of describing it,” he admitted, frowning. “I understand their reluctance to trust me, particularly under the circumstances. But I do wish I didn’t feel like such an…”

“‘Alien’?” Pedro finished, raising an eyebrow wryly.

“Well… yes.”

Pedro nodded in understanding. “They warmed up to me eventually,” he consoled him as City Hall came into view several blocks down the street. “They will warm up to you.”

Victor pursed his lips dubiously. “I will take your word for it.” Suddenly he cocked his head suspiciously, staring down the street in the direction they were walking. His eyes narrowed to thin slits.

Pedro frowned and followed his gaze to see three people standing under a malfunctioning streetlight. The two closest to them stood stock-still; one of them seemed to be fumbling in the pocket of his coat. Then the other person turned to look at them and pointed a device of some sort in their direction. A burst of lightning shot out toward them, and the two heroes dove in opposite directions. The lightning arced past them and struck the façade of a closed store behind them, shattering the bricks and unleashing a plume of acrid smoke. Pedro struck the sidewalk on his side and glanced across at Victor, who had landed on the grass in front of an apartment building. Pedro planted his quarterstaff on the ground and pushed himself up as the two people ran straight toward him.

“Help!” the woman screamed, panic in her eyes. “He’s got a gun!”

“Yeah, I figured that out for myself,” Pedro grumbled, shaking his head to refocus.

The woman pulled up short meters in front of them, causing the man with her to trip, and gasped, pointing at Victor. “What is _that_!?!” she shrieked.

Victor’s gaze dropped to the ground.

“ _He_ is, um… ‘Volpinax’,” Pedro replied irritably. “He’s an alien, but one of the good ones. _He_ ’s with _me_ , and _we_ ’re with the Heroes of Paris. Now what’s the problem?”

The man put his hand on the woman’s back and quickly explained, “We were just walking home when he accosted us.”

Pedro nodded and glanced over at Victor, who had a calculating look in his eyes, frowning and staring at the man less than a block away from them. The mugger held something small, smooth, and silvery. Another burst of electricity arced toward them, and Pedro tackled the two civilians to the ground, covering them with his own body as the lightning arced past them and dissipated. The moment the crackle of electricity stopped, Pedro scrambled back to his feet. He adjusted his grip on his quarterstaff and tensed to charge.

“Wait,” Victor told him, holding a hand out and shaking his head. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brows in concentration. The air in front of Pedro shimmered, and a dozen exact images of them flickered into existence all around the street between them and the mugger. The illusions blinked in and out several times before one to their left on the sidewalk firmed up and gained sharpness.

“What now?” Pedro asked, glancing over at Victor. To his surprise the illusion of him did the same.

“Now we attack.” Victor burst into action. Raising his paws and extending his short claws, his mouth opening in a snarl, he charged across the distance separating them from the mugger.. With a shrug, Pedro followed him. The image of them on the sidewalk copied their action, and the mugger turned to aim his weapon at the illusions. Pedro lifted his quarterstaff with both hands. A bolt of lightning shot across the street, through the image of the two heroes, and struck a fire hydrant behind them. The image disappeared but the lightning bolt brightened, the white light searing Pedro’s retinas in the instant before he turned his focus entirely to the mugger without slowing his charge. The mugger trembled, trying to pull his weapon up and away to disengage, but the energy continued coursing out of it and into the fire hydrant. The white lightning continued to brighten, the smell of ozone filling the air around them.

Only two meters separated the heroes from the mugger. Pedro dropped his staff to the ground and swept the man’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. The pistol fell out of his hands and clattered to the pavement, where Victor recovered it and disengaged the beam. Pedro planted the tip of his quarterstaff on the mugger’s chest. Finally he let out the breath he had been holding.

“The Superhero Liaison Department’s overnight patrol is already en route,” chirped Turing over their communicators.

“Thanks.” Pedro slowly lowered himself to the ground and sat on the curb in front of the mugger. “So did you know it would do that?” he asked Victor as the alien sat next to him, examining the weapon carefully.

Victor smirked in amusement. “Obviously.”

“Obviously to _you_ ,” Pedro observed, arching an eyebrow. He waved his hand for the alien to elaborate.

Victor shrugged. “I recognized the design,” he explained, holding the pistol up and turning it over in his hands. “The barrel is very distinctive on this newer model. The Shunjar removed one of the two grounding wires to save on materials. As an energy weapon it doesn’t make much of a difference – it can cycle a little too fast and overheat if it is fired too rapidly. But since this one was modified to generate a constant current of lightning, I assumed that the energy would drain if it hit something grounded.”

“And that’s why we need our resident alien!” Pedro noted, patting him on the back.

“So… ‘Volpinax’?” Victor asked, cocking his head curiously.

Pedro nodded, stepping out of the street as a police car pulled up next to them. “All the Heroes have codenames of some sort. That includes you now, so why should you be any different?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Maiden (Bri) and the Hound (Felix) tear London apart late into the night in search of the Ripper's latest victim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Part Two of “The Dark of Night,” the crossover which began with [Chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750845/chapters/71227029/) of “The Darkest Nights” and will continue in [Chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771119/chapters/71227230) of “The Life and Times of the Heroes of Europe.” I’ve been toying with the idea of “Patrol Logs from the Field,” featuring heroes from around the world instead of just Paris, but this is the first of those to actually show up in “Patrol Logs.” “Life and Times” [Chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771119/chapters/70447080) is a good example of what that would look like.

Bri’s eyes took on a hard set as she slipped inside of her suit, the built-in diagnostic program starting immediately when her bracelets plugged into the built-in ports. Even before the program had completed, Iron Maiden had already pulled out the wires and turned around, ready to start the patrol circuit. Time was of the essence, after all. Every minute she wasted in here was another minute that Anne was missing. The head’s-up display showed green across the board.

Leaning against the doorframe, the Hound eyed her worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Iron Maiden pushed past him and out the open doorway. “My best friend is out there!” she retorted as the door started to close. “It’s already been close to an hour since he took her. I don’t have _time_ to not be okay!”

“We’ll find her,” he assured her, slipping out before he could be locked inside. “But you won’t be any good to her if you do something rash and get yourself hurt!”

“Bullshit!” she shot back, kicking off into the air as her jetpack activated. She flew up into the air in a tight corkscrew, aiming to ascend above the buildings and give her suit’s sensors the best range. “If I had helped you out last night instead of hiding in my room like a weakling, we could have ended his reign of terror right then! But we missed our opportunity then.” She slowly rotated in midair, level with the roof of the tallest building at King’s. “I _won’t_ miss him this time,” she muttered.

Below her, the Hound cut across city blocks back toward the library, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, swinging across wider streets with his leash. “Last night wasn’t your fault,” he panted as he stopped to survey the scene in front of the library from across the street. Several more police cars had joined the first two, and a steady stream of officers poured in and out through both doors, the lights inside the buildings spilling out the windows, reflecting off the thick cloud cover.“It was entirely the Vicar’s fault. _He_ ’s the one who was preventing me from helping that woman.”

Iron Maiden frowned insider her helmet. Aside from routine traffic, she could see nothing out of the ordinary. With a sigh she turned into a ballistic arc, aiming for the library and the last place she knew that Anne had been. “Yeah, well, if I’d been there I could have kept the Vicar off of you so you could have helped her.”

The Hound hummed pensively. “That may be true,” he admitted slowly. “But self-recriminations after the fact aren’t going to be productive. We can get angry about what we _should_ have done all we want, but it doesn’t change the past. It doesn’t change our present situation. What’s important is that we’re here now.” He let out a humourless chuckle. “I only hope I don’t run into the Vicar again _tonight_ when we’re busy looking for Anne!”

Iron Maiden scoffed. A handful of meters above the library roof she kicked her feet down to reverse thrust, caught herself, and rocketed away horizontally, curving around into a racetrack pattern spiralling out from the library. Her eyes roved across the ground below her, scanning every face she saw and checking them against her own recollection of the Ripper’s features. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Pup,” she told him. “After tonight, I doubt we’ll be seeing him again for a while.”

“What?”

“I saw him,” she explained. “Before Anne called. We fought, but he got away. But he was definitely nursing some wounds.”

“I – wow.” He was quiet for a while. “I’m glad you’re back, partner!”

“Yeah…” Iron Maiden was quiet for a minute, veering off her course slightly to avoid flying into the side of a skyscraper. The city below them was quiet, apart from a handful of police vehicles racing around, lights flashing in a profusion of colours in stark contrast to the fading late afternoon light. She didn’t need to check the time on her suit’s display to know that they were coming up on a little over an hour of searching. What must Anne be thinking right now? What might the Ripper be doing?

“Mother?” the Hound presently asked, stirring her out of her reverie. She’d zoned out slightly, searching on autopilot while her thoughts raced away on her. “Have the police found anything?”

“Not yet, dear,” Amelie reported moments later. “The detectives have finished their search of the crime scene – no clues at or near the library. The worker at the desk remembered checking her out, but nothing more than that. No one unusual was there, and no one seemed unduly interested in her when she left. A couple of the officers did search the library, but they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”

“I didn’t realize this city had so many officers,” the Hound observed. “Good to see them all _pound_ ing the pavement this evening.”

Iron Maiden pursed her lips. Still there was nothing to be seen – no indicators of where the Ripper could be or what he could have done with Anne. The sun was finally dipping entirely below the horizon. The streetlights had come on. An indicator on her display flashed: low power. She’d been out for over three hours already. “I need to recharge,” she announced. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll keep looking,” the Hound promised.

It only took fifteen minutes for her to return to the workshop. The door slid open as she landed, and she jogged inside, her steps booming loudly on the cement in the quiet workshop. The suit came off quickly, and she hit the button to release the build-in battery pack. When she had first designed her suit, she had assumed that the rechargeable battery would be sufficient; now, however, she was grateful that she had decided to upgrade and make it replaceable a few weeks ago. Her second battery pack slid into the compartment and snapped into place without any trouble, and she plugged the mostly-dead battery into the charging station. With that taken care of, she topped off the fuel for her jetpack – a new concoction that the Heroes of Paris had developed which burned more efficiently – before sliding back into the suit. In all, she was only on the ground for less than ten minutes before racing back out into the darkening night to continue the search.

But it was still ten minutes that she wasn’t looking.

“Anything new, Pup?” she called once she was back in the air.

“Well, I think the city was out pruning trees today,” he reported. “I didn’t notice it before, but a couple of trees along Pemberton are missing branches.”

She hummed pensively. “I suppose that’s not so unusual,” she commented. “I remember seeing a work crew out the other week.”

“Well, in that case, I’ve got nothing,” the Hound told her, a bitter edge to his voice. “I’ve been over the Ripper’s most recent killing area a dozen times already, and I haven’t seen _anything_ out of the ordinary. I’m going to start expanding out from there.”

She frowned and let out a breath. “Where was his initial kill-zone?” she asked. “Could that be where he took her?”

“Whitechapel,” Amelie responded immediately. “The first victims – the ones who survived – all worked at a strip club in the area. And the first victim he actually killed was found in a parking lot just off Durward Street.”

“I’m going to go check it out,” she decided, leaning over into a turn toward the northeast. The city passed below her in a blur, her display superimposing names and plotting a direct course. The red dot indicating the location Amelie had sent her drew closer, and she shifted to hover above it. Below her she could see a handful of vehicles parked beside a sports centre. All the buildings along the street were dark; the street itself was deserted in obedience to the curfew. Tied to a tree in one corner of the parking lot stood a weathered poster board, the remains of candles littering the ground beneath it. Although the board itself had faded, Iron Maiden’s optic sensors could reconstruct the dim outline of a face. She dropped to the ground in front of the poster, her head turning slowly to take in the scene. “This must have been a memorial,” she murmured, nudging a cluster of faded artificial flowers with her boot.

“Does anything appear to have been disturbed recently?” asked Amelie.

“No.” Iron Maiden captured a few photographs of the scene and looked around again. Shifting to infrared, she examined the vehicles and surrounding buildings. “Nothing. The cars here haven’t been driven recently – or at least not recently enough. And none of the buildings are substantially different from the ambient temperature.”

“Most of the buildings around there are abandoned,” Amelie reported. “City of London Police just reported that they haven’t found anything. Not a single lead yet.”

Iron Maiden pushed back into the air, swinging around in a careful loop around all of Whitechapel. Although there were a few more people to be seen, none of them stuck out to her facial recognition. With a grimace she shot back toward the college. Vehicle lights continued to trace around the city below, a fraction of the city’s usual level of traffic. But any one of those could hold Anne and the Ripper. Iron Maiden dropped down to fly mere metres above the car roofs, looking through the windows, hoping for a glimpse of red hair. Afraid that she would instead find the Ripper’s lifeless grey eyes staring back at her.

It felt like hours later that Iron Maiden returned to her lab to replace her second dead battery. The police cars had stopped flashing their lights and racing around the city at a breakneck pace, shifting into a slower and more methodical grid-by-grid search. Amelie kept them appraised of the search’s progress, but they lapsed into quiet as the search dragged on into its eleventh hour. The Hound had shifted his focus across the Thames, while Iron Maiden had moved out to fly a circuit around the larger metropolitan area. But with each passing minute, she could sense the chances of finding a new lead slipping away. No bodies had been reported yet, but that was scant hope.

As she launched into the air, she blinked away the exhaustion trying to force her eyes closed. She couldn’t afford to lose focus now – not when her sister was in the clutches of a monster. She had to press on. Each minute meant more time that Anne had been in the Ripper’s hands. Each minute meant he could have spirited her that much farther away – or done God knows what to her. But each minute also meant another chance to see some clue, some hint of where he might have taken her. The city below was wrapped in darkness, hardly any features visible…

“Iron Maiden!”

She blinked once. “Hound?”

“I’ve been calling you,” he responded, a hint of worry in his voice. “Are you okay, _cher_?”

“Yeah…” she sighed heavily. Her arms moved sluggishly, her suit slow to respond. “I’m… I’m okay…”

“Well, okay…” She could see his brown form on one of the roofs below her as she traced another circular path around the city. If he was in this area, though, maybe she should move into a different part of the city. Spread out their resources…

Iron Maiden turned to look forward where she was going. A massive stone block loomed out of the darkness, directly in her path. Suddenly startled completely awake, Iron Maiden tried to turn up to avoid it, but she had drifted too close to the ground. The building was too wide for her to go around when she was only meters away! She was going to hit it! She was–

“Maiden!”

A sharp tug on her ankle arrested her forward momentum abruptly and pulled her crashing to the ground. A pair of arms caught her just before she could hit. Her jetpack cut out and she turned around to look up into a worried face outlined by floppy brown ears.

“I think it’s time to call it a night, _mon Fer_ ,” the Hound told her, frowning.

“But Anne–”

“Needs you _alive_ ,” he finished, pursing his lips. “We’ll try again tomorrow, when you’re rested.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all for the Heroes of the UK, but not for “The Dark of Night.” The night continues in [Chapter 15](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771119/chapters/71227230) of “The Life and Times of the Heroes of Europe.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pinky and Hato Gozen find something unexpected

Hato Gozen jogged up to the large glass pyramid in front of the Louvre to find Miss Pinky already waiting for her, leaning against the museum’s front pillars and humming to herself. She had spent almost the entire day sitting at the Mansion’s security desk and catching up on her reading; after Adrien and Marinette had left for school in the morning, practically the only people she had seen until dinnertime had been Fu and Marianne. After that, she was looking forward to taking a run around the city to stretch her legs, especially with a friend – even if she was probably going to use her wings for most of it. “Is that a new song?” she called to Miss Pinky.

Miss Pinky nodded happily. “Luka does most of the writing for Kitty Section – at least with the music – but Juleka and I decided to give it a try. So I’m writing the melody and lyrics, and she’s going to fill in the rest.”

“Sounds like fun!” Hato Gozen raised an eyebrow. “Music is one thing I’ve never been able to figure out, even though I enjoy listening to it.”

“Have you been to any live concerts?” asked Miss Pinky, leading the way north along the Rue du Louvre. “With everywhere you’ve been, you must have seen some amazing things and heard some incredible music!”

Hato Gozen shrugged. “We didn’t exactly have time for sightseeing most of the time,” she admitted, falling in next to Miss Pinky. “But Mother did take me to see _Phantom of the Opera_ on Broadway when we were in America… ten years ago? Then there was Carnival in Rio a few years before that.”

“Ooh, That must have been so much fun!”

Hato Gozen nodded hesitantly and frowned. “Carnival itself was, but we were actually there because Mama had heard a rumor and suspected the Bat of being in South America – either Brazil or Argentina.” There had been a dengue fever epidemic in Brazil at the time, so they had gone to investigate. For months they had trekked across Brazil, following the trail of illnesses from one end of the country to the other, hoping to find the original source of the epidemic. Unfortunately, by the time her mother had found the girl who had been “Patient Zero” of this epidemic and Calmed the Kiss of Death’s effect on her, another epidemic had begun, elsewhere in South America. They had chased the shadowy _Muerciélago_ up and down the continent for the better part of a year before he finally eluded them and disappeared somewhere in Mexico.

“So is Carnival as much fun as they say it is?” asked Miss Pinky.

“Absolutely!” Hato Gozen answered, smiling wistfully. “One of these days, I’d like to go back and see it again, especially now that I’m old enough to appreciate the experience!”

“We should _all_ go!” Miss Pinky suggested eagerly. “All five of us would have a blast there!”

Haton Gozen smiled. The last time she had actually had someone to travel with had been when she and her mother returned to Russia and her mother had relinquished the miraculous to her. Her mother had waved to her as she boarded a plane in Moscow, and that had been the last time she’d seen her. She’d been on her own ever since.

At least until she stumbled across Ryoku and Viperion the same day she arrived in Paris back in the spring. Now she had people. Now she had a team and friends. No longer was she on her own. “I would like that,” she agreed.

As the two heroes turned down Rue Réaumur, Hato Gozen sprouted her wings and took to the air, pumping rapidly to gain altitude and search the nearby streets for signs of people. A handful of people were out walking the streets, but none stood out to her right away. A couple stepped out of a bar and walked toward a car parked nearby. A man hustled own the street, his hands in his pockets. Someone in a long coat stood under a streetlight a couple blocks ahead of them. Hato Gozen frowned and continued scanning.

On the sidewalk below her, Miss Pinky raced straight toward the closest building, held her rake up, caught it on the crossbeam of a streetlight, and swung herself up into the air. At the apex of her swing, she released the streetlight, flipped around once, and caught her fingertips on the edge of the building’s roof. Scrambling up, she broke into a jog to keep up with Hato Gozen while running across rooftops.

“So when _is_ Carnival this year?” asked Miss Pinky curiously.

Hato Gozen furrowed her brows in thought. “Normally it’s near the end of February,” she began. “But I’m not sure for this year.”

“I hope the trip there works out!” Miss Pinky jumped from one building to the next as they turned down the next street to head south. “Maybe we can even play a concert while we’re there!”

“What, just the three of you?”

Miss Pinky shrugged. “We can make it work.” She turned to Hato Gozen, cocking her head in a question, but paused, staring down at something on the street two blocks ahead of them.

Following her gaze, Hato Gozen found a girl who looked to be a year or two younger than she was, marching stiffly down the street without turning her head in either direction. Hato Gozen frowned, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. “Something doesn’t seem right here,” she murmured, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Suddenly, a white panel van turned off a side street and screeched to a halt next to the girl. The door slid open, and a man grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her inside. The van caromed away the moment she was inside, before the door had even closed. The whole incident had taken less than ten seconds.

“Hey!” shouted Miss Pinky, giving chase, sprinting along the rooftops with her rake held to one side. Reaching the end of the block, she leapt off, spun her rake like a helicopter to slow her descent, and dropped to the ground. The moment she landed, she raced after the van, still two blocks behind it.

Pumping her wings, Hato Gozen pushed herself higher to keep the van in sight. The van tore down the deserted street at speed, and Miss Pinky could do no more than keep it in sight. Hato Gozen drew her naginata and extended the handle to full length. Sizing up the distance, she brought the weapon back, holding straight with both hands, and swung forward, putting as much energy behind the throw as she could. The naginata flew true and struck a handful of meters in front of the van. The blade sunk into the pavement up to half its length, the handle sticking out and waving slightly from its momentum. The van slammed straight into the naginata handle, the rear end lifting off the ground and the front half crumpling down as it stopped abruptly. Moments later, Miss Pinky ripped the rear door off the van and pulled the girl out. Hato Gozen alit next to them to find the victim blinking in confusion.

“Wha–what happened?” the girl asked dumbly, looking around in disbelief.

“What do you remember?” Miss Pinky asked, holding the girl steady with a hand on her shoulder.

“I… nothing,” she admitted, her brows furrowing in thought. “I just got home from school and then… next thing I knew, I was here.”

Hato Gozen gave Miss Pinky a worried look. “You don’t remember getting pulled into this van?”

The girl shook her head, confused. “Everything is just so jumbled.”

Hato Gozen hummed doubtfully.

“I am contacting the Superhero Liaison Department for you,” Turing reported over the communicator. “They should arrive in no more than ten minutes.”

“Good.” Hato Gozen left Miss Pinky to help the victim sit down on the curb while she looked in on the driver and passenger, both of whom appeared dazed. The interior of the van was dark; the van’s electrical system must have been damaged in the crash. With a thought, Hato Gozen created an orb of light in her hand to see into the van. The two men were alone. She could see an open package of zip ties on the seat next to the passenger in the back, who was blinking dumbly and rubbing the back of his head. “What do you two have to say for yourselves?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry?”

Hato Gozen scoffed. “Wrong answer,” she informed him, snapping her fingers. The light suddenly blazed blindingly bright, illuminating the van brighter than the midday sun.

“Ahh!” The man winced, clenching his eyes shut. Hato Gozen brought the light orb closer to his face, so close the blood vessels became visible under the skin of his eyelids. “Alright!” he shouted. “We were hired today! Some guy we’d never met! He told us to drive the van, that we’d see a girl walking and we were to grab her and park the van in an abandoned parking lot! But that’s it!”

“Who hired you?” she thundered. The light intensified, whiting out all features in the enclosed space. “Give me a name!”

“I–I don’t _have_ one!” The man clamped a hand over his eyes, whimpering. “He never gave us a name. He just said to call when we were done!”

Hato Gozen cut the light back to a manageable level. “You’re going to call this employer and tell him you finished the job. Then you’ll give me the meeting location. Then you’ll go to jail. Got it?”

The man quailed under her intense glare and made the phone call, putting the phone on speaker. The phone rang twice before a raspy voice answered. “You failed,” the voice whispered.

“What?” the man yelped in surprise and fear. “NO! Of course we didn’t! We got her; we’ll meet you at the mall parking lot like we planned.”

“No…” The voice dropped low. “You failed me. And you lied.” The phone call disconnected.

The man’s eyes suddenly unfocused, his face went slack. He slammed his head forward into the seatback in front of him. Then his eyes focused again, and he rubbed his forehead, wincing in pain. “What–what just happened?”

Hato Gozen narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you tip him off?”

“No! How would I have done that!? You were listening!” He furrowed his brows. “But what happened after that?”

Hato Gozen groaned in frustration. Flashing police lights turned onto the street two blocks away. “You are going to have to answer some questions,” Hato Gozen told the two criminals. “You _both_ will have to answer some questions…”

The police car pulled to a stop beside them, and two officers got out. One, whose nametag identified her as “Sgt. Girardot,” leaned over and shined her light into the van. The two prisoners winced, covering their eyes and turning away from the light. Girardot cocked her head in confusion. “Um… what happened here?”

“Possible kidnapping,” Hato Gozen answered briskly. “The victim didn’t remember anything – and I mean _anything_ – so I was… ‘questioning’ these two.”

Girardot nodded to her partner, Roux, and the two officers hauled the prisoners from the van to handcuff them. While the officers saw to the prisoners, Hato Gozen moved around the van to the back and found Miss Pinky sitting on the sidewalk next to the still-confused victim. “Anything?” she asked.

Miss Pinky shook her head. “It’s over, at least. Whatever it was.”

Hato Gozen frowned. “I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Muerciélago” is a combination of the Spanish “Muerte” (“Death”) and “Murciélago” (“Bat”). Night Bat has gone by many names over the years…


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bengalia and Lupa Gris have an "icy" encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this “Patrol Log” came from Bex_is_a_Slytherin. If you have a suggestion for a character pairing or conflict, let me know! I don’t use all of them (or in a timely fashion; the original idea for this one was at the end of October!), but sometimes they spark something. I forgot to mention that the idea for last week’s “Patrol Log” came from Kiki on FF.net.
> 
> A note on identities: the American team just doesn’t have secret identities, and the Heroes of Paris don’t really keep identities secret from them (hard to when the Americans live at the Mansion and Lupa Gris can sense active miraculous). So Lupa Gris knows the connections between the heroes, even if she doesn’t actually know all their names.

“Sorry I’m late,” Bengalia called as she dropped to the ground in front of Lupa Gris next to the fish market two blocks from the _Liberty_. “Miss Pinky kept saying ‘Just one more episode,’ and before we knew what had happened, we had watched half a season of the new _Powerpuff Girls_ show!”

“‘ _Powerpuff Girls_ ’?” wondered Lupa Gris, furrowing her brows in confusion.

Bengalia nodded and jumped up to the roof of the closest building before taking off at a sprint, Lupa Gris close on her heels. “It’s kind of her guilty pleasure,” she explained. “She says she likes it because she thinks I could pass for Blossom with a different hair color; I’m pretty sure it’s really because she identifies so hard with Bubbles!”

“She does have a rather ‘bubbly’ personality!” Lupa Gris agreed. She paused for a second and jumped off the roof, out over the wide street between them and the next building, catching the ball of her war club on a telephone line and swinging herself around into an arc. Landing on the roof across the street, she turned to Bengalia and asked, “So who is your – what’s the third one? Buttercup?” She grinned. “Let me guess: Ryoku.”

Bengalia giggled. “She does have that personality, doesn’t she?”

“But then who does that leave as your ‘Professor’? Viperion?”

“I should tell him you said that,” Bengalia joked, her face cracking into a smirk. The image of Luka wearing a white lab coat…, or _anything_ other than “punk,” for that matter! Although Kagami _had_ gotten him to wear a tie when he accompanied her to one of her mother’s business parties a few weeks ago, so maybe the idea wasn’t so farfetched.

They turned to follow the Avenue des Champs-Élysées for a few blocks past the row of banks, and Bengalia felt a sudden blast of cold air blow past her. She shivered slightly, and glanced over to see Lupa Gris with her mouth turned down and eyes narrowed suspiciously, goosebumps forming on her bare arms.

“Is it often this cold this early in November?” Lupa Gris asked, blowing on her hands to warm them.

Bengalia narrowed her eyes. She had been wearing a T-shirt just a few hours ago. “Sometimes, but it was a lot warmer even just a couple hours ago. And it wouldn’t normally get _this_ cold, _this_ fast.” Her miraculous ears swiveled on her head toward the sound of hissing from about a block away. She looked over at Lupa Gris, who nodded firmly in acknowledgement. The two heroes quietly raced toward the sound, their footsteps making no noise. As they approached the bank on the right side of the street, Bengalia could see the light from the streetlamp on the corner reflecting off of something translucent around the front door. Looking further down the street, she saw similar reflections in front of two other banks. Bengalia dropped to the ground in front of the bank, Lupa Gris right behind her, and landed on the edge of the shimmery substance. Her feet slid out from under her and she fell face-forward, only catching herself by stabbing one of her claws into the whitish stuff. It flaked and chipped and felt cold against her gloved hand.

Lupa Gris placed a hand against the substance before smacking it with her war club. “Ice?” she stated, surprised.

Movement inside the bank drew Bengalia’s attention. A light was barely visible bouncing around, the beam reflecting and distorting as it passed through the thick wall of ice. The source of the light moved around and disappeared, leaving the bank’s interior dark once more. “You get the feeling someone’s in there?” Bengalia asked, raising an eyebrow.

“One of those ‘Beam of Life’ devices would be useful right now,” agreed Lupa Gris, smacking the wall of ice with her war club. A deep divot formed in the center of the doorway. “I will work on this; you look for another entrance.”

Bengalia nodded curtly. “In-Stripe-Tion!” she whispered, shivering as the invisibility spread over her body from her head down to her feet like a cold shower. With a powerful leap she reached the middle of the second story, grabbed a window ledge, and clambered up the side of the building. On the third story she paused next to a window which had the blinds open. The window sat slightly ajar, and Bengalia carefully slid one of her claws through the opening and silently slid the window open far enough for her to slip through.

If she had thought it was cold outside, the temperature inside the building was positively frigid. Despite being invisible, Bengalia’s breath misted in front of her face. She held her breath; the cloud disappeared. That was an unexpected wrinkle: if she wasn’t careful, her breath could give away her position. Cautiously she skirted around the desk and out the open doorway into the hall. The hallway itself was dark, though not too dark for her miraculous-enhanced night vision. She edged around the table against the wall easily by the light reflecting from downstairs, careful to avoid banging into the chair sitting next to it. In the center of the floor was a wide staircase that descended down two floors to the ground, where a man wearing a fur-lined parka with a thick backpack on his back stood in front of the doorway next to two overflowing bags. He held something in both hands up to his shoulders, leveled at the front door. A steady chipping was audible and getting louder: Lupa Gris was almost through the wall of ice. As Bengalia watched the ball on the end of her war club broke through the ice and retracted. The man tensed.

Bengalia jumped onto the banister, balancing on the balls of her feet, and slid down it, picking up speed as she went. The object in the man’s hands was clearly a gun of some sort. Bengalia watched in slow motion as he depressed the trigger and a spray of liquid shot out into the gap in the ice wall, just as Lupa Gris drove her foot through the weakened ice to slip inside. She dove to one side to avoid the spray, spinning her war club to block the splatter. Bengalia’s feet knocked against the railing as she sprang off the banister, arms outstretched and claws extended. The man began to turn toward her, eyes widening in surprise, but too late. She sidestepped a stream of the freezing liquid and grabbed the line connecting the gun to his backpack. The liquid stopped flowing immediately, and she stabbed all three claws straight through the gun, hacking it to pieces. Finally she willed In-Stripe-Tion to end.

“Impeccable timing,” Lupa Gris observed with a grin before knocking her war club against the tiled floor to dislodge the icicles that had formed along it. Blue flashing lights were visible outside the bank, reflecting through the broken ice. Moments later, two police officers stood outside the bank, waiting for Bengalia and Lupa Gris to hand the robber out through the hold. They quickly followed him out with the remains of his freeze gun and the backpack.

“What are we supposed to do about this?” asked one officer, examining the ice wall with a critical eye. “Think energy pistols will melt it?”

Bengalia shrugged. “Maybe,” she replied. “Though you might have better luck with a hair dryer!”

“It would have to be an industrial strength one!” the other officer laughed. “Think your wife’s got one strong enough, Moreau?”

“ _I_ ’m not asking her!”

“If it does not melt on its own, Pegasus might come up with something,” Lupa Gris told them.

“Works for us,” Officer Moreau agreed. He looked down at the destroyed ice gun. “Are we taking that for evidence, or are you?”

Bengalia and Lupa Gris shared a look. “You take it,” Lupa Gris decided. “I think we’ve had enough of the cold for one night!”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Bengalia told her as they jogged down the street. “The cold never bothered _me_ , anyways!”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryoku and Lupa Gris are out looking for the Bear Miraculous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based off another idea from Kiki. If you have pairings or scenarios to suggest, put them in a review and I will see if I use them!

After dinner, Kagami returned to her room, closing the door behind her with a sigh. Although her mother had begun to allow her more freedom recently – ever since the summer, really – their relationship still wasn’t what she might call “close.” They ate dinner together about three times a week, but dinner was often a quiet affair unless her mother had something to tell Kagami. Tonight it had been her displeasure with Kagami’s performance on her most recent chemistry test. And even when Kagami had pointed out that she only missed two points on the test, her mother had insisted that she arrange extra tutoring sessions with Max to make up for “slipping.”

It wasn’t that she disliked tutoring with Max. They only _actually_ met for about two-thirds of their sessions; the other times she could spend the time with Luka or Marinette. And even when they _did_ meet, half of those sessions were actually with Sabrina or Chloe so it felt more like she was just hanging out with friends. But all the same…

“Something is troubling you,” Longg observed quietly, slipping out of her purse and coiling up on her shoulder.

“I just wish Mother were a little more like Anarka, or Sabine, or Emilie,” Kagami admitted, frowning.

The Kwami hummed pensively. “It is upsetting that your own mother is so aloof,” he agreed, nodding. “However, as the Teacher said, ‘Everything has beauty, though not everyone sees it.’ Your mother does give you great privilege, Kagami-San. Many of my previous holders grew up in far worse surroundings than these. And while your mother is not as emotionally-open as you would wish, you have also been given such good friends who have adopted you into their family.”

She nodded slowly. “I know, but…”

“But it is not the same.” Longg patted her shoulder with one paw and smiled sympathetically. “However, perhaps another silver lining is that she gives you the space to leave your house when necessary!”

Kagami gave him a smile. “That is one thing I could _not_ do before I received you,” she pointed out, putting a few sardines in her purse. “Longg, Bring the storm!” The moment she was transformed she held out her arms and whispered, “Wind Dragon,” and vanished in a breath. Slipping through the tiniest space between the parts of her window, she allowed the breeze to carry her across the city toward the Seine. Near Notre Dame she spotted a silvery figure jogging along rooftops, and materialized in front of her with a thought. “Good evening, Julia,” she greeted her, de-transforming as she did so to give Longg a snack.

Lupa Gris stared at her in shock. “No matter how many times you do that, it startles me every time, _chica_!”

Kagami giggled and transformed back. “There was one time we played tag as a ‘training exercise,’ and I took out Cat Noir, Geber, _and_ Bengalia, all at the same time that way!”

“I will remember not to challenge you, then!” Lupa Gris replied with a snort. “Shall we?”

Ryoku nodded and followed Lupa Gris along the river east, turning north on the Boulevard Bourdon and jogging past the Place de la Bastille. “So what did you and Marco do today?” she asked curiously.

Lupa Gris shrugged. “I took him for a walk around Sacré Cœur this afternoon,” she replied, turning to follow the street. “I thought I sensed the Bear up in that area last week, but I didn’t feel anything today. I don’t know what it is, but the Lynchpin’s miraculous users are as elusive to contain as a handful of maggots.”

Ryoku laughed. “An appropriate metaphor,” she observed. She frowned. “What if we run through that arrondissement tonight?” she suggested. “Your senses are more heightened when transformed, ¿ _no_? And I assume you didn’t transform this afternoon.”

Lupa Gris nodded slowly and left the street, running across an open garden, crossing the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Martin, and taking the most direct route toward the tall domed church looming over the city to the northwest. “That sounds like a plan!”

Ryoku put on a burst of speed and pulled ahead of Lupa Gris, the wind whipping around her, blowing her hair back. It didn’t matter what her mother said, it didn’t matter if she never could satisfy her expectations. She was _Ryoku_. She was _strong_. She was a miraculous hero! She had just come to an intersection a few blocks from the basilica when she stopped on the roof of a movie theater. A young woman was just turning onto Boulevard Barbès, a plain dark cloth covering her head. Ryoku shrugged and waited for Lupa Gris to catch up.

“Your speed is impressive, Ryoku,” observed Lupa Gris, planting the ball of her war club on the ground and leaning against it. “Though speed won’t help with finding our missing miraculous.”

“Perhaps not,” Ryoku agreed, grinning. “But it _is_ fun!”

Lupa Gris nodded, matching Ryoku’s grin. “¿ _Lista_?”

Ryoku was in the middle of nodding her agreement when she froze. A flash of movement on Boulevard Barbès caught her attention. The woman she had noticed before had been joined by several other people who had formed a ring around her. The woman turned this way and that. In the light from a streetlamp, Ryoku could see the woman – a girl only a year or two younger than her – with her eyes wide in fear, searching for an escape. Ryoku let out a curse.

“You’d better not teach that to my two-year-old!” Lupa Gris warned her humorously. “I’m not sure if I want you babysitting him now!”

In response, Ryoku pointed down at the scene in front of them. The girl was completely surrounded, the crowd pressing in on her from all directions. Two of the men shouted slurs.

Lupa Gris gave her a confused look. “What is wrong with those people?” she demanded.

“You haven’t noticed the anti-foreign sentiment in Paris?” Ryoku asked, frowning. “Immigrants – especially from certain countries – aren’t always the most welcome here…”

Lupa Gris scoffed. “I have been an immigrant for half my life!” she retorted. “First moving from Argentina to the temple. Then coming here. I fail to see how that warrants this…”

One of the boys in the crowd grabbed her hijab and pulled it away with a shout of “rag-head!” Ryoku groaned, muttering another curse. “That’s our cue.” She stepped back from the roof’s edge several paces, sprinted forward, and leapt at the last minute, flinging herself out into the air, her momentum carrying her across the street. The scene had devolved even further, with two people in the crowd grabbing the girl’s arms. Her eyes flashing with anger, Ryoku held her arms out and bellowed “Lightning Dragon!” Thunder cracked, and Lightning-Ryoku appeared from a blaze of white light in the middle of the crowd, standing directly in front of the girl. Electricity still crackling in her eyes, Ryoku drew her sword, pointing it at the two men holding the girl. “Now, are _you_ going to release her arms, or am _I_?”

The crowd shrank back in terror. Lupa Gris appeared at Ryoku’s side a moment later. The girl dropped to her knees, trying to hide between the two heroes. Her hijab was missing. Ryoku scanned the crowd to find it and gave the boy who seemed to be in charge of the gang a stern look, twirling her sword. The boy’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Ryoku stabbed her sword into the sidewalk, burying it up to half its length. The boy swallowed audibly and meekly held out the cloth. The girl snatched it out of his hand and wrapped it around her head.

“Now, you’re going to tell me _exactly_ what you were doing here, and _then_ I will decide what happens from here,” Ryoku announced, pulling her sword out of the ground and holding it to her side.

“Why are you getting in our way?” the leader demanded, clenching his fists. “ _We_ ’re out here doing _your_ job!”

“You think our job is to harass innocent girls?” Ryoku shot back vehemently.

“It’s _Bougnoules_ like _her_ that are destroying our country!” another voice in the crowd shouted.

The girl flinched.

Lupa Gris pursed her lips. “Our job is to protect innocent people from those who would hurt them,” she replied. “And right now, the only people I see trying to hurt an innocent person are _you_!”

“We don’t want no immigrants!” a voice called out.

“I am an immigrant, too,” Lupa Gris seethed, eyes flashing with anger.

“As am I,” Ryoku added, spinning around and directing her sword unerringly at the boy who had shouted. “Now you are going to speak with a civil tongue… or you are going to speak with _no_ tongue! She has as much right to be here as any of you!”

Ryoku tightened her grip on the sword handle, eyeing the crowd around them. Slowly the people along the edges started to peel away, one at a time to start but slowly increasing until the two heroes were only left facing the leader and one other man. The other man kicked the ground and walked away. Finally, the leader muttered something under his breath and turned away.

“Apologize to her,” Lupa Gris ordered him.

The boy stared at her in shock. “W–what?”

“Apologize for what you did,” she repeated ominously. “And for what you were going to do.”

He mumbled something.

“So she can hear you,” Ryoku instructed, flicking her wrist so the sword’s blade caught and reflected the light.

“I’m sorry,” he enunciated, rolling his eyes.

“Now if I find out that there was any more of this lunacy in this neighborhood, I won’t be so forgiving,” Lupa Gris told him. The boy fled.

The girl stared at the two heroes in shock. “I – I don’t know what to say! Thank you!”

Lupa Gris gave her a surprised look. “ _Por supuesto_ ,” she replied. [“Of course”] “Why wouldn’t we help you?”

“It’s just… no one really cares about us,” she explained. “My father was mugged last week, and the police never came.”

Ryoku nodded sadly. “I’m sorry we weren’t around to stop it.”

The girl sighed. “We came here to escape from all the wars and fighting, but it’s just been more of the same – all of it directed at _us_ ,” she whispered. “My father is a doctor, but no one will hire him so my mother has to work almost all the time to get by and provide for us all – and the only job she could even find was as a housekeeper at Le Grand Paris.” Her shoulders slumped. “And that will be me, too, once I’m old enough.”

Ryoku furrowed her brows in contemplation and nodded slowly. “Not anymore it won’t be,” she decided.

“What?” The girl stared at her uncomprehendingly.

“What’s your name?”

“Leïla – Leïla Ouazani,” she answered. “But–”

“I’m going to do something about that,” Ryoku explained, thumbing a control on her sword’s handle.

“But what can the Heroes of Paris _possibly_ do?”

Ryoku smirked. “A better question might be, ‘What can the Heroes of Paris _not_ do?’ You know who your mother’s employer’s daughter is, right?” she asked rhetorically. “Let me make a call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Bougnoule” is a derogatory term for Arabian people used in France. It should go without saying that my use is not an endorsement by any means.
> 
> Based on conversations with a European reader, in terms of discrimination in France, something that American audiences don’t always recognize is that France/Europe doesn’t really have “racism” as we think of it. In Europe that form of discrimination is more commonly directed against immigrants.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Pinky and King Monkey take a patrol journey to the west of Paris

Rose gave Juleka a quick peck and jogged down the gangplank off the _Liberty_ , racing down the street away from the boat and toward the meeting spot with King Monkey. It had been a fun evening, just her and Juleka having dinner with Anarka on the boat. Luka had taken Kagami out for dinner to celebrate their five-month anniversary; he’d sent a picture with the two of them, and of course Kagami had looked amazing in the new dress Luka had commissioned Marinette to make for her. Rose sighed happily. “So romantic!”

“You really have the best family!” Daizzi flitted out of her purse and rose to float next to her, nibbling the last bits of flesh off an apple. “Did _you_ tell Anarka to stock up on these?” the Kwami asked curiously.

Rose shook her head. “No… and I don’t think Juleka did, either,” she replied, frowning. “She doesn’t _normally_ buy those…”

Daizzi shrugged. “Well, I’m not going to complain about getting my favorite variety for tonight!” She shoved the whole core into her mouth, chewed once, and swallowed, before nodding to Rose. “Ready when you are, Rosie!”

“Daizzi, Rise to power!”

Even before the pink light of her transformation had faded, Miss Pinky put on a burst of speed, racing down the darkened streets. She took in an exhilarating breath. This was her favorite part of being a superhero: just getting to run through the streets on patrol – no agenda, no super-villains, no reminders of… Tyran-X… – just her and her friends going around and helping people. It wasn’t the same thing patrolling with the others as when she got to patrol with Bengalia, but still. She grinned and raced around the next corner–

–and almost ran straight into King Monkey coming from the opposite direction. On instinct Miss Pinky dropped to the ground and slid just as King Monkey dove over her and somersaulted to his feet. She sprang up with her rake up, the head centimeters from King Monkey’s neck. “Are you insane, Monkey?” she demanded, wide-eyed and panting.

“Oh, sorry, Pigsy,” King Monkey replied, grinning sheepishly. “I just left my girl’s place and didn’t want to be late. Wasn’t expecting to _run into you_ so soon!”

“Well, you weren’t late,” she noted wryly, dropping her rake head to the ground and leaning on it. “I guess I can give you a pass this time. Although if you’d _actually_ run into me I might not be so forgiving…”

He shrugged. “So where to?”

“Let’s head west along the river,” she suggested, replacing her rake and taking the lead in jogging down the street.

King Monkey fell in beside her. “Have you ever gone horseback riding?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“Sk8r Girl dared me to do it next weekend,” he replied eagerly. “There’s a farm just north of the city with horses. Neither of us has done it before, so we’re going to have a race. Loser has to clean out the stables!”

“Just remember: if you fall, try to land on your head, rocks-for-brains!” she teased. “I think I would give her the edge,” she commented judiciously.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, smirking. “Care to make that a bet?”

“What would the bet be? Knowing you, something stupid, right? Loser has to drink some nasty concoction?” she asked dubiously.

He shook his head. “Nothing like that,” he replied. “I was just thinking loser owes the winner an orchard-full of peaches!”

She laughed. “Um… I’m good. Though it would be fun to watch!”

He grinned eagerly. “Perhaps,” he agreed. He frowned. “Although we’re going as civilians, not heroes, so…”

She shrugged. “You’ll have to let us know how it turns out,” she told him.

“Absolutely,” he agreed. He raised an eyebrow. “I’m calling it already: I win by a landslide! I’m the best at everything!”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re an imp.”

He guffawed. “Don’t you mean I’m the ‘Handsome Monkey King’?” he asked, grinning.

“Sure. Whatever you say.” By this point they had almost reached the far west side of the city. Miss Pinky glanced south at the quiet river flowing past them, then turned to head north to loop around the city. However, when she stepped off the sidewalk into the street, Miss Pinky’s feet splashed in water. She looked down in confusion to find water rising out of the sewers and pooling in the street, already almost level with her ankles. “Um… KM?” She gestured toward the water, pushing it aside with her rake.

“Well that’s not something you see every day,” he observed, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Looking up and down the street, the story was the same: water rising out of the sewers and running together to form a river running down the middle of the street, following the contours of the land down toward the Seine. “Any ideas?” he asked.

Miss Pinky shook her head curtly, pursing her lips in thought. “I mean, Ryoku could do something like this, but it can’t be her.”

“You sure?”

“Positive: she’s on a date.”

“But then–”

“This Black River must be purified!” shouted a voice closer to the river.

As one, the heroes spun around to find a woman dressed all in light blue, standing in the center of an intersection next to the river, holding a wooden spade with a crescent blade on one end. Streams of water flowed down the streets from all directions toward the woman, merging together and building into a torrent as the level rose closer to the woman. Beyond her, the water in the Seine washed up over the riverbank and merged in with the growing lake surrounding the woman, leaving the roadway around her submerged.

“Well _that_ ’s not something you see every day,” commented King Monkey with a low whistle.

Miss Pinky’s eyes widened as the Seine’s level dropped: what would happen to the _Liberty_ – or to Juleka and Anarka – if the river disappeared under them? “Hey!” she shouted, racing down the hill toward the river. “What do you think you’re doing!?!”

“This city is a den of filth and corruption!” declared the woman, raising the spade and spinning it in a circle, churning the water around her into a whirlpool. “I, Sandy, must cleanse it with pure water!”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Miss Pinky incredulously. “How is this supposed to help anything!?”

“The pollution of man must be washed away! I am going to wash this filth-ridden city back into the river, to protect the river from the people and their corrupting influence!” Sandy raised her hands above her head, and the whirlpool around her accelerated, rising away from the ground in a growing wave. Eddies swirled away from her, lapping against the buildings on either side of the street.

“You realize that if you do that, all the pollution and trash on the land will just get washed into the river, right?” Miss Pinky called. “The river would be just as bad off then!”

Sandy shrugged. “In that case, perhaps there _is_ no point to any of this without fighting the heroes and washing away the people first.” No sooner had she spoken than she lashed her spade out at them, sending a wave crashing down over the two heroes.

Miss Pinky and King Monkey dove in opposite directions, narrowly evading the wave that crashed right where they had been standing, rending apart the street where they had been standing moments before. “We need to cut down her water supply before she wipes out the city!”

“But what are we supposed to use?” King Monkey demanded, springing to his feet and spinning his staff to cut a hole through Sandy’s next wave attack.

Miss Pinky furrowed her brows in thought, even as she sidestepped to evade another wave. The water rose up around her ankles, reaching almost to her calves. “Cornucopia!” she shouted, slamming the head of her rake through the water and into the ground. Wading through the water she dragged the rake behind her, concentrating on the two species she wanted. Almost at once the ferns started shooting out of the ground, rapidly pulling in the water above them. At the same time a line of monkey flowers sprouted on either side of the rows of ferns. Longer and longer the line rows of plants stretches and Miss Pinky doubled back, covering more and more of the street with furrows, moving ever closer to Sandy. The small lake started to drop as the plants did their work, seeping up the water.

“What?” Sandy looked around in confusion. “Where is my water going?”

Miss Pinky charged in and swung her rake at Sandy’s head. “Where it belongs!” she retorted. “Washing away the city isn’t the right answer!”

“No!” Sandy raised her spade to block Miss Pinky’s attack, but Miss Pinky powered through, knocking Sandy to the ground. The spade slid out of her grip, and the wave building behind her crashed back to the surface, covering Sandy. She grabbed the spade, and the water flowed back.

“It’s the spade!” shouted Miss Pinky.

“Hey!” called King Monkey from behind Sandy. “Uproar!” A mop appeared over his head, which King Monkey grabbed and immediately swung with both hands at her head. Sandy tried to duck, but didn’t move fast enough. King Monkey struck her in the back of the head, and she fell limply to the ground. The water immediately settled around her.

Miss Pinky reached down and grabbed the spade, almost up to her elbows in the water. Free of Sandy’s manipulation, the water started to flow past them, back down toward the river, which slowly rose back to its normal level. Miss Pinky let out a slow breath as King Monkey fished a groggy Sandy out of the water and carried her through the water to finally deposit her on the stairs of the closest apartment building, just above the water. Collapsing onto the stairs next to her, Miss Pinky finally hit the button on her rake to alert the SLD and groaned, “I could sleep for days after that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was already writing the prompt when I realized it had given me the two heroes whose miraculous are linked by “Journey to the West.” See if you can pick out all the “Journey to the West” references… and there are a lot! If I get a request for it, I’ll include a list at the beginning of next week’s “Patrol Log.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sent-Bee and Ladybug have a heart-to-heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this originally came from Kiki on FF.net.
> 
> Only about 6 of the 18 references to _Journey to the West_ in last week's "Patrol Log" were actually found...

“Are you enjoying the chicken Marengo, dearie?”

Chloe nodded and took another bite before soaking up some of the sauce with a heel of bread. “It’s very good, Mme Lenoir,” she assured her. “And these baguettes are so light!”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to what your chefs make at the hotel,” Marianne commented, looking away in embarrassment, “but I do enjoy it, especially with a little extra wine.”

“No, it’s–it’s good,” Chloe replied, her mouth freezing into a grin to hide her grimace at the reminder of le Grand Paris.

From the other side of the table, Emilie reached over and covered Chloe’s hand with her own. “You know you’re always welcome to come over, sweetheart,” she told her, smiling sympathetically.

Chloe glowered at her halfheartedly. “That’s not fair, _Tante_ ,” she complained.

“No, she’s right,” Marinette piped up, beaming at her from the far end of the table. “You don’t have to _just_ come over to get away.”

“We always have more than enough food!” Adrien agreed, helping himself to another serving of vegetables.

Chloe nodded and looked around the table at everyone who was there for dinner, smiling in contentment despite herself. It was such a change from two years ago: the Agreste Mansion always seemed to be filled to bursting with people these days, all of whom liked her, all of whom actually cared about her wellbeing. She didn’t have to try to reach an impossible standard for Emilie to love her – Emilie’s love was unconditional. She didn’t have to prove herself to Marinette and Adrien – they accepted her as herself. “If you’re not careful, Adrikins, I might just decide to move in here!” she teased, smirking.

Adrien frowned and stroked his chin contemplatively. “That could work,” he agreed slowly. “You would probably have to take the guest room next to my room.” He raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Chloe scoffed. “And listen to the two of you through the walls whispering sweet nothings to each other all night? And next year I’m sure it’ll be worse…”

Marinette flushed, but Adrien grinned. “Well, the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”

Chloe hummed. “Tempting… maybe _next_ time Mother is in town.” Her eye was drawn to Marinette tapping her watch, and she nodded. “I guess it’s time to find that puppy and get out of here,” she admitted, standing up as Marinette did the same. “But I expect you to leave some of that tart for us when we’re done!”

“I make no promises…”

Marinette put a hand on her hip and gave Adrien a look.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t finish it all,” Emilie assured them, stifling a giggle.

Chloe was just about to leave the dining room when Emilie met her at the door and pulled her into a warm embrace. “No matter what Audrey says, I love you, sweetheart,” she whispered. “And I couldn’t be prouder of who you have become.” Chloe nodded and opened her mouth to respond, but no words would come. Emilie patted her cheek and smiled. “I know. Now you girls have fun out there!”

Chloe grabbed her Sent-Bee bag and jogged down the guest hallway to the playroom, where the Lise and the Kwamis were watching Marco, who had eaten earlier and had insisted on watching Bee-atrice. “So were you good?” Chloe asked the puppy, who barked happily. “I’d better not find out otherwise…” she warned, though she couldn’t hide a small smile.

“ _Adios_!” called Marco, waving as Chloe carried Bee into an empty room to change.

Five minutes later, Sent-Bee stood in the entryway, settling the jetpack straps on her shoulder properly before zipping Bee-atrice into her carrying pouch. Marinette bent down in front of her and scratched the puppy’s chin, smiling affectionately. Bee closed her eyes, her tongue hanging out, and yapped. “Ready to go, Bug?” Sent-Bee asked, raising an eyebrow under her helmet.

“Waiting on you!” Marinette answered with a grin.

Sent-Bee rolled her eyes and pushed the door open. “As if _you_ ’re any better when it comes to getting ready,” she retorted as they jogged side by side down the Mansion driveway.

“Twenty minutes – twenty-five, tops,” Marinette argued. Tikki snorted. “Quiet, you,” Marinette hissed, flushing. “I _could_ just keep Plagg’s cheese in there for you!” She ducked into an alleyway a couple blocks from the Mansion.

“Whatever you say, Mar,” Sent-Bee observed, looking away but unable to miss the flash of red light from her transformation. She still couldn’t quite avoid a twinge of regret, loneliness, and jealousy when the others transformed. But one of these days she would get Pollen back. Sent-Bee kicked off into the air, activated her jetpack, and was already hovering next to the building when Ladybug sprang out of the alley and landed on the roof.

Ladybug threw her yo-yo and led the way, swinging between buildings and running across rooftops. “And anyways, it’s not like _you_ ’re any better,” she pointed out. “Didn’t Sabrina say it once took you four hours to get ready for school on picture day? Which year was it? Préparatoire?”

Sent-Bee scoffed, keeping up with her easily on her jetpack. “You can’t rush beauty!”

“Sure, Chlo.” Ladybug led the way down the street, past the bakery, continuing on toward the river. She fell quiet; Sent-Bee could see an interesting look on Ladybug’s face as they passed the collège. “Did you ever think we would get here?” Ladybug finally asked.

Sent-Bee hummed questioningly. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Ladybug gave her a deadpan look. “Yes, you do,” she replied. “Did you ever think we’d actually be… friends? Best friends, even? Back at Dupont?”

Sent-Bee scoffed. “As _if_! I would _never_ have had _anything_ to do with you!” Ladybug arched an eyebrow dubiously, and Sent-Bee sighed. “But maybe… _maybe_ I saw us perhaps being friends one day. Maybe.”

Ladybug giggled. “I never did,” she commented matter-of-factly, springing off the roof she’d been running across and swinging across the intersection. “But now… now I can’t see us being any other way.” She chuckled. “When the future-you said that you–or her–were almost my–or future-me’s–or her _past_ -me’s –maid of honor, I thought she was insane.” She paused for a beat to catch her yo-yo around a different building’s chimney. “But if Alya _weren’t_ available… you would absolutely be my first pick.”

“How far we’ve come,” Sent-Bee observed wryly. After everything that she had done to Marinette over the years… She sighed. She really didn’t deserve her friendship. Even _if_ Marinette was marrying one of her oldest friends.

Ladybug nodded. “Thank you, by the way,” she went on. “For working with our friends so much, I mean. It can’t be easy juggling all of them and their needs, but you’ve done an amazing job with it. Especially everything that happened in Somalia. And London… I–I don’t know if Adrien and I would be able to handle all of that on our own, without you.”

Sent-Bee felt her cheeks reddening. “It wasn’t a problem,” she deflected. “I was just happy to have something to do.”

Ladybug arched an eyebrow knowingly. “Still, I’m glad I can count on you,” she told her. “No matter what.”

Sent-Bee smiled and drifted out over the Seine. It was nice to know her friends had her back. It was nice to know that she had a family, even if her mother hardly seemed to care. What did it matter if her mother couldn’t be bothered to say a single kind word to her? What did it matter if her mother didn’t think anything she did was worthwhile? She knew who she was. She had people who cared about her.

Bee-atrice barked urgently, drawing Sent-Bee out of her thoughts. She turned to look down at the bridge over which she was flying, only to see a man slip and fall over the side and into the water. On instinct, Sent-Bee drew one of her yo-yos and threw, but it merely plopped into the water as he sank below the surface. “Ladybug!”

A red yo-yo streaked past her before hers had rewound back to her hand, looping around the man’s torso and pulling him out of the river, reeling him up to her. Ladybug however fell to meet him, having thrown her yo-yo while still in midair, plummeting toward the river’s surface. Ladybug and the man collided mere meters above the river, the man’s feet still touching the water.

Sent-Bee’s eyes widened and she let out a curse as she turned over into a dive, chasing Ladybug. No sooner had Ladybug caught the man than Sent-Bee looped her arms under Ladybug’s armpits just as the man’s legs slid back into the water. Sent-Bee grunted at the exertion, a yell escaping from her throat. The excess weight strained her shoulders. Bee whined pitifully at being squished between Ladybug’s back and Sent-Bee’s chest, despite the padding around her. Sent-Bee’s jetpack wasn’t powerful enough to pull them all the way back up to the roadway; she could barely control her descent well enough to drag the man out of the Seine! Finally she flew out from over the river, over the paved edge of the river. The victim hit the ground first and tumbled over limply. Sent-Bee released her grip on Ladybug’s armpits and pulled the zip to drop Bee out of her pouch before crashing into the ground herself.

Ladybug sprang back to where the man had landed, turned him onto his back and immediately bent over to check his neck. “He’s not breathing,” she reported curtly. “But he has a pulse.”

“Ambulance on the way!” chirped Turing over their communicators.

Sent-Bee shook her head groggily pushed herself up to her hands and knees, pausing for a moment and clenching her hands into tight fists, forcing herself to breathe past the nausea until her head stopped spinning. Her arms hurt, and only her suit had saved her from being scraped to hell, but she was still in one piece. Finally pulling herself together, she stumbled over to where Ladybug had already started chest compressions. Bee vibrated next to Sent-Bee’s feet, yipping agitatedly. “Not gonna do the thing?” Sent-Bee asked.

Ladybug gave the victim two breaths. “I–huh. I guess I _could_ …” She shook her head. “If this doesn’t work then I will, but…”

Sent-Bee nodded, knelt on the opposite side from Ladybug, and pressed her hands to the man’s chest. Elbows straight, she gave two strong compressions before the man started coughing up water. Ladybug, who had been directly over him, leaned back abruptly to avoid getting splashed in the face. She grabbed his shoulder and rolled him onto his side as the water poured out and he gasped for air. Sent-Bee sat back on her heels and let out a relieved breath.

Ten minutes later, the two heroes were sitting together against the wall, Bee-atrice curled up between them and the semi-conscious victim lying on the ground in front of them and covered with a Lucky Charm-blanket, when the ambulance finally pulled up on the roadway above them.


End file.
